


The Dark Knight

by CanadianGarrison



Category: Batman - All Media Types, The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crime Fighting, Crossover, M/M, action and adventure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-11-09 21:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11112999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanadianGarrison/pseuds/CanadianGarrison
Summary: A masked vigilante appears when the police can't keep up with the costumed criminals terrorizing citizens. A young man's father is killed and he swears revenge. A police detective and a clown wearing far too much makeup are flirting with disaster.Follow Athos, Porthos, d'Artagnan and a very special version of Aramis through a crime-fighting adventure as they all come together to avenge Alexandre d'Artagnan's death and protect the innocent people of Gotham City.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go, friends! I've been working on this one for ages and it's time to share with the world. There will be some violence and a bit of sexual content but nothing that requires a more intense warning (I think, please let me know if you find otherwise!) and this one's definitely not a smutfic as per my usual, hopefully nobody's too shocked. As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated.
> 
> Thanks to my #smuttyladies and azile_teacup for audiencing and editing, I could not have done this without you! All mistakes are my own, and sadly I do not own the characters.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman fights the Joker; Athos and Porthos share brunch after a long night.

Batman looked out over Gotham City, his cape fluttering in the wind, a grim expression half-hidden on his masked face.

The Joker had been terrorizing Gotham for months, but tonight Batman had a solid lead, the first in his hunt for this particular – and peculiar – quarry. According to the GCPD, the Joker was planning to ambush a shipment of gifts and donations that the city’s Catholic churches had collected in honour of the new Pope.

At 4:00 on a chilly Tuesday morning, Gotham International Airport was as quiet as it ever got. Dawn was still about an hour away. As Batman watched from his vantage point on the roof of the air traffic control tower, a convoy of armoured police vans and cargo trucks drove out onto the tarmac. They had come from the cargo terminal, as expected, but was there an extra police van? Had the GCPD changed their plans? Batman’s source was honest but not always fully up to date, and wouldn't inform him of any last minute changes even if he did know about them…

Batman’s train of thought was interrupted as the police van just in front of the primary cargo truck abruptly turned sideways, the truck ramming into its side panel dead-on, contents spilling out in all directions. Men jumped into action, swarming the cargo truck, and as Batman leaped into the fray he saw that some of the people on the ground weren't police at all, they were wearing the green bomber jackets that marked the Joker’s Goons. He used the wind currents and his cape to soar swiftly through the air, silent and unnoticed until he landed in the midst of the crowd and started throwing punches.

There were dozens of police already on the ground – extra security in anticipation of the Joker’s attack meant more officers on duty – but the few brightly-coloured Goons were easily overpowering them. _How??_

As Batman punched one Goon in the jaw and turned to kick another in the chest, he realized that the Goons were wearing new masks, different than usual – these ones had built-in rebreathers – and the Goons were spraying something at the police, gas or aerosol, he couldn't tell which. The poisoned officers fell to the ground almost immediately, laughing and screaming into unconsciousness. Hopefully not death; Batman didn't have extra gas masks with him. He clicked the button at the jaw of his cowl to activate his own rebreather and then focused on disarming and incapacitating the Joker’s henchmen as efficiently as possible without killing anyone, working his way closer and closer to the smoking cargo truck that was by now sitting with its side doors open as two Goons emptied its contents onto the tarmac.

“Quickly!” the Joker shouted – he was standing on the roof of the truck, facing away from Batman and gesturing with a sawed-off shotgun. “Red! Get the truck empty _NOW!_ Green, there's pigs on your six!” 

Batman climbed onto the roof of the truck in two easy jumps, aiming a strike at the Joker’s head as soon as he was close enough. It connected, but not hard – the Joker moved at the last minute, and his red-lipped grin twisted as the hit rocked his body to one side.

“Batman! I wondered if you'd join the party!”

“Give it up, Joker, you're outnumbered,” Batman growled, but the Joker just laughed, mouth wide, eyes blazing.

“Am I?”

The Joker turned back to his henchmen, glanced down at the pile of donated goods they'd made on the ground beside the truck. Aiming his gun into the middle of the pile, the Joker fired, and the resulting explosion rocked the truck on its wheels. What kind of ammunition was he using??

The Joker took advantage of Batman’s distraction to jump down to the ground, purple coat swirling at his knees, and then he tucked his shotgun under one arm and grinned madly up at Batman, rummaging in his pockets.

“Wait, wait, I brought you something. Hold this,” Joker said to a lifeless body on the ground, leaning his gun against the bloody head, and then he pulled a bunch of flowers from inside his coat. Was that in there all along? And what kind of flowers were they? They looked wrong, gleaming dark and metallic – then Joker reached into the bundle and pulled out a very familiar pin. Batman barely had time to think before the Joker had tossed the bouquet of grenades into the cargo truck, and as he fired his grappling gun and swooped away the truck exploded behind him, flames chasing his heels and licking at his cape.  

When the smoke had cleared, the Joker and his Goons were gone.

* * *

It was hard for Athos, getting up early enough to make a 1 pm lunch date with Porthos. Harder than usual, after a night like he’d had. But he saw Porthos all too rarely these days, and he was always worth the effort. Besides, with Treville there to grumble and cajole him out of bed, and provide excellent coffee, it wasn't really that bad.

He was only a few minutes late, walking into Dorsia to find Porthos at their usual table, coffee in front of him and a steaming mug of it waiting at Athos's seat.

“Late night?” Porthos asked with an eyebrow-waggle.

“Mhm,” Athos answered, settling into his seat and taking a sip of his coffee. It was perfect, as usual. “You don't look all that much better yourself. Lots of policing to do?”

“Cap has me on nights,” Porthos said, finishing off his own drink. “Besides – remember I told you Joker was planning a heist?”

Athos nodded, secretly grateful that Porthos wasn't yet ranked highly enough to be on the team chasing after the Joker, and thus had been downtown on patrol last night, rather than at the airport. Athos had years of experience at hiding his feelings for Porthos, only months to get used to the same thing for Joker, but having to fight the Joker and his henchmen while worrying about Porthos doing the same thing would be just too much.

The waiter stopped at their table, refilled their coffees and took their orders. When they were alone again, Porthos continued.

“Well, he did it, hit the whole shipment right as it was on its way to the Vatican – artwork, clothes and such for charity, even money, literal piles of cash, Athos, and you know what he did?”

Athos hummed noncommittally.

“Set it all ablaze. By the time the fire department got there it was just ashes and melted plastic. Captain says there was close to half a million dollars worth of stuff all together.”

Porthos didn't care about the money itself, Athos knew, but what it represented – the children who could have used the warm clothes, families the money might have helped to put food on the table. After the Church took its cut, of course. The Cardinal would be displeased, to say the least, but his unproven ties to organized crime put him firmly in Athos's bad books, even if he was high up in the Church.  

“That's awful,” Athos said. “I wonder if the De La Fere Foundation can help, find out what charities it would have gone to and make a donation.”

Something relaxed in Porthos's face, at that, and Athos smiled a little in return. He always felt better when Porthos did, ever since they were children, and met on the worst night of both their lives.

“Thanks, Ath, that’d be great. You know I don't like to tell you what to do with your money, but…”

“But I'm always glad to help,” Athos interrupted.

“Yeah, well, you're not the only one." 

Porthos's voice turned bitter, and he leaned back from the table as the waiter set down his plate, nodding his thanks and drinking some more coffee.

“Hm?” Athos prompted, taking a bite of his omelette and looking across the table at Porthos.

“Had a visit from the Bat.” Porthos spoke in a hushed tone – Batman was popular with the people of Gotham, yes, he’d saved enough of them from assault, petty larceny, or worse, but… some things just weren't spoken of in certain places. Athos simply nodded, concentrated on eating his breakfast and not looking too interested in Porthos's opinion.  

“Showed up just as the trouble started; he must've been watching, but the Joker was waiting for him – looked like he got away pretty easily, really.”

“Well,” Athos started slowly, “I'm sure the Batman did all he could to help. And from what I hear, he doesn’t kill anyone.”

“Small mercies. We don't need his help,” Porthos answered abruptly. “Or want it. He wants to help, he should be like you, donate to charity. Not this interfering in police business shit. If he hadn't swooped in when he did, maybe we would've caught the Joker, or at least stopped him before he set fire to the whole lot. Could've saved a lot of waste.”

Athos didn't know what to say to that, so he just nodded and drank more coffee.

“But enough about work!” Porthos said around a mouthful of BLT. “How're you? Treville still keeping you in line up at the Manor?”

“You make it sound like it's been years since we last spoke. It's only been –”

“Three weeks,” Porthos said. “Too long, Ath, but I know you're busy, what with De La Fere Enterprises and all those parties…”

“Oh yes, there are so many demands on my time,” Athos joined in dryly. “Women to ravish, champagne to bathe in, you know how it is.”

“Nah. You must’ve learned that sorta thing when you went on that big round the world adventure, left me to fend for myself, all by my lonesome.”

“Come on, I've been back more than a year now, how long am I going to be in trouble for that?”

“Aw, you know I'm just teasing.” Porthos grinned and lightly smacked the side of Athos's head, easily reaching across the table with his long, strong arm. And the thing was, Athos _did_ know that Porthos was playing, just like how he knew that under the joke was a core of hurt, still, one orphaned boy in an alley holding another, silent and scared next to the rapidly-cooling body of his parents.

The little boys they used to be may have grown up, but Porthos would always be a bit hurt, here, would always be waiting to be alone again in the dark.

“I know,” Athos said, dragging his mind back to the present. “And I'm well. Learned some more Catalan, increased my bench press weight, did some work on the Rolls.” In truth, Athos had made some unusual modifications on a car he’d build almost entirely himself, his special car, but he couldn't tell Porthos that, as much as he might like to. The car could drop an oil slick behind it, now, and shoot special tire-shredding caltrops in three directions. The passenger side was still giving him trouble, but Treville was working on it this afternoon.

“That's good,” Porthos said. “Listen, I'm sorry but I gotta jet, Captain Bonacieux put me on the overnight patrol and I need a nap or I'll be useless after about two.”

“Of course,” Athos said. “And do say hello to your Captain for me.”

“Not on your life,” Porthos laughed. “She'd take one look at you with your big manor and fast cars and devilish smile and she'd marry you, and then where would I be?”

“Standing up as my best man, I hope,” Athos answered, because ‘in bed with us, always,’ was not something you said to your best friend since childhood, no matter how much you might want him. Especially when he was a very law-abiding police officer and you were a masked vigilante pretending to be a rich socialite. There was just no way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does Gotham City really need as much help as Athos thinks? Is Batman up to the challenge? Find out next week - same Bat-time, same Bat-Channel!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles and Alexandre d'Artagnan visit Gotham City; it ends badly.
> 
> Warnings for canon-ish levels of violence and the death of a supporting character who basically always dies in this fandom.

Charles d’Artagnan and his father Alexandre were in Gotham City, spending a few days together away from work and school to mark the tenth anniversary of Jeanne d’Artagnan’s death. They did things to remind themselves of her life – went to the Italian restaurant where Alexandre had proposed, walked around the shops where they had bought Charles’s baby clothes, went to see a musical because she'd always loved them. Walking back to the hotel late at night, arms linked, Charles was glad to have this time with his father. 

“I miss her, you know,” he said, “but I can't really imagine what our lives would be like now, if mom were alive.” 

“I can,” Alexandre answered. “It would be the same, but different. You’d still be just finishing high school, and your mother would be as proud of you as I am now.” 

“Aw, dad,” Charles bumped his shoulder against his father's – he was just recently grown a bit taller, but they still matched well enough. 

“Now, son,” Alexandre started, but he was interrupted by a scream from a nearby alley. 

“Hey, that sounds like someone in trouble!”

“Charlie, wait!” Alexandre called, but Charles was already running, and Alexandre could only follow him into the dark alleyway. 

In the cramped space between two brick walls was a dumpster, overflowing and stinky, and a large man had a woman shoved face-first against the grimy metal. He was holding her with one hand in the middle of her back, easily ignoring her struggles, working to undo his pants with the other hand. 

“Let her go!” Charles shouted, closing the distance between them and grabbing the arm holding the woman captive. The big man turned to Charles, growling, and the woman took advantage of his distraction to break free from his grasp and run away, disappearing into the busy Gotham streets. 

Charles just stood there, surprised at his own success, until a huge fist connected with the side of his head and he went reeling. Before he knew what was happening, the big man had pulled a gun from inside his coat and was levelling it right at him. As a shot rang out Charles felt himself pushed, not in the chest as he expected but at the shoulder. Alexandre had caught up with them, pushed his son out of harm’s way, and now he was on the ground. 

Everything went still and silent. The big man stepped around where Charles kneeled on the trash-strewn pavement beside his father and walked away. 

Charles held Alexandre’s hand, touched his cheek, smoothed back the hair that had fallen across his forehead. 

“Dad, talk to me,” Charles begged, and his knees were damp, why was he wet? Was it raining?

“Proud of you, Charlie,” Alexandre gasped. 

Footsteps approached, and Charles looked up when a shadow fell across his father's body. It was a man, had to be, with that height and build, but Charles had never seen anyone like this before – he was wearing some sort of body armour, a mask that covered most of his face, and a cape. And did he have pointy ears? 

“What do you want?” 

“To help,” the stranger answered, his voice low and gravelly. 

Charles turned back to his father, still bleeding but no longer breathing. 

“Bit late.” Charles laughed, a broken sound. He heard police sirens, coming closer. 

“I'm sorry,” the masked man said. 

A police woman stepped around the corner, shone her flashlight on Charles and Alexandre. 

“Everything ok here?”

“No, I need help!” 

As she approached, the stranger melted away into the shadows. 

* * *

Later, d’Artagnan was walking back to his hotel, alone. How different than just a few hours ago; how strange to think that his life, his whole world could change so abruptly. 

Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention – it was that masked man again, in another alley. How was he everywhere?

“Who are you?” d’Artagnan asked, before he even thought about it. 

“I'm Batman.” 

“Well, would you stop following me? I've had a rough night, in case you hadn't noticed.” 

“I’d like to speak with you.”

“What, now?”

“Yes.”

“I'm done with dark alleys for the day,” d’Artagnan said, and kept walking. The Batman fell into step next to him, walked alongside for a few minutes. 

“There's a park up ahead, can we talk there?”

D’Artagnan nodded, turned into the park and sat on a bench under a street lamp. 

“So. I'm Charles d’Artagnan.”

“I know.” 

“And you’re… Batman?” 

No answer.  

“Well, what do you want?”

“To help.”

“You said that already.”

“Sorry.”

“You said that too.”

Silence drew out; d’Artagnan didn't know what to say. Didn't know why he was even sitting here with this weird stranger – he should get back to the hotel, sleep; tomorrow would be a busy day. He had to call the funeral director back home, arrange for his father's body to be picked up at the morgue, and when would the police release him, how long would their investigation take? 

“You wanna help? You know anything about arranging funerals?”

“Hm. Could do a thing or two, yes.”

“Well then. You can deal with that for me. I'm going after that man, the – did you see? He shot my father!”

“I know. I can help.” 

“You keep saying that, but why? Why are you here, talking to me? You don't even know me.”

“Labarge killed my parents, too.”

* * *

When d’Artagnan woke up the next morning, he had about two seconds of calm before he remembered the night before. Then he just wished he was still asleep.

He rolled over, glanced at the clock – 10:20, not bad – and pulled the covers up over his head. Where should he even start? Calling the farm Alexandre managed? Or maybe his cousin in Paris, his only living family left. D’Artagnan didn't even have credit cards in his own name; how would he pay for the hotel, get back home, let alone pay for the funeral? Did he even  _ want _ a funeral? Who would attend, besides himself? Not like Francoise would fly in, they'd barely spoken in years. And none of that even touched on the one thing d’Artagnan knew he  _ did _ want to do…

The phone rang. 

“Hello?”

“Yes, Mr d’Artagnan? This is Emily at the front desk. There's someone here to see you.”

“There's what?” 

“You have visitors, sir. It's Athos de la Fere!” This last part was a whisper, the kind that barely disguised an excited squeal. “And someone else, as well.”

“The –  _ the  _ Athos de la Fere?” D’Artagnan was from out of town, but everyone in the country had heard of Gotham City’s richest man, seen his antics on social media and in tabloids. His bisexuality had been the subject of several articles when he came out a few years ago, and helped give d’Artagnan the courage to come out, himself. But what the fuck was he doing here? 

“Yes!” Emily was still whisper-shouting. 

“I, uh… I'll be down in a minute, I guess?”

“Okay. He mentioned breakfast so I'll ask him to wait in the dining room.”

Five minutes later, d’Artagnan had washed his face, run a comb through his hair, and pulled on fresh clothes. Yesterday's jeans were still in the bathtub, knees soaked and stained with blood. Maybe he should've said no, told Emily why he came home alone last night, but he'd always wanted to meet Athos de la Fere, and anything that took his mind off the current situation was welcome, at this point. 

The dining room hostess led d’Artagnan to a table near the back, quiet and away from the few other guests, already occupied by two men. He recognized Athos from his pictures (one or two of which had been stuck on his bedroom wall, right next to Dylan O’Brien). The other man looked big, even sitting down, with dark skin and hair, and his police uniform fit him very nicely. They both stood as d’Artagnan approached the table. 

“Good morning,” Athos said, reaching for a handshake. “Thank you for meeting with us today. I'm sure you have many other things on your mind. Do you prefer ‘Charles’ or ‘d’Artagnan’?”

“Uh, d’Artagnan, please,” he stammered. 

“Porthos Duvallon,” the other man said, with a warm smile and outstretched hand. “GCPD, and a friend of Athos. I'm so sorry for your loss.”

“How – how do you know?” Charles asked as he sat down across from them. 

“That's what we're here to talk about,” Athos answered. “The De La Fere Foundation runs a program to assist victims of violence here in Gotham City.” 

A waitress appeared, and they all took a moment to order coffee, look at the menus. D’Artagnan wasn't hungry, but he would need his strength so he ordered some eggs and toast, though Porthos and Athos just stuck to coffee.  

“Assist like how?” He asked. 

“Funeral expenses, for one,” Porthos said. “Transportation, hotel costs if you're in from out of town, that sort of thing.” D’Artagnan nodded. That would all be helpful, and it's not like his father made much money, he'd take what he could get. 

“Porthos can also help you navigate the police system,” Athos continued. “He's worked there for years and has worked with other people in similar situations.”

“So, you must get a lot of this sort of thing, if you had to set up a Foundation to deal with it.”  

“We do other work as well,” Athos explained. “School lunch programs and afternoon care, meals on wheels. But yes, there's tragically too much crime in Gotham.”

“We're working on it,” Porthos added. “But in a city this big, it's hard to keep up.”

“That must be why you have a Batman, then. Though he didn't do much for us, last night.”

They glanced at each other, then back at d’Artagnan. 

“The GCPD doesn't exactly approve of his methods,” Porthos said. “We work within the bounds of the law to protect our citizens, he should do the same.” 

“”That's true,” Athos said, “but I can sympathize with wanting more options. We've taken up enough of your time today, I think. Here's my card, please let us know if you need anything.” 

D’Artagnan just nodded. Their departure seemed a bit abrupt, but they were probably busy, and he needed to get started on finding this Labarge person, anyways. 

“I'll be in touch as soon as there's more info from the police about your father, is that okay?” Porthos sounded sad, and sadly experienced. “It was nice to meet you.” 

And then d’Artagnan was alone again. He'd best start getting used to it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How does d'Artagnan cope with the loss of his father? Do Athos and Porthos help as much as they say they will? Find out next week - same Bat-time, same Bat-channel!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porthos investigates vandalism at a local church, and d’Artagnan trains for his mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter chapter this week, but that’s how it goes sometimes. After this they're nice and long for you ;)

Porthos slipped through the door at the rear of the First Catholic Church of Gotham. It was deserted, just as the priest had said it would be. As he scanned the dimly-lit office for anything out of the ordinary, he mentally reviewed the Joker’s activities over the past evening. 

Calls had come in from all around the city, churches finding their holy statues defaced, quite literally – the original faces smashed and shattered, and then the crumbling surface painted with black, green and red. The Joker’s own likeness staring out from the Virgin Mary’s body, saints and angels with his red rictus grin, dark eyes and bright green hair. The Cardinal was  _ pissed. _

This particular church didn't seem to be affected, from what Porthos could tell as he slowly headed up the side aisle. There was no sign of disturbance, no noise interrupting the peaceful calm. But it had seemed so likely – the “first” wasn't just a name, this really had been the first Catholic church in Gotham City, and when he'd tracked the vandalism on a map of the city this church was smack in the middle. So where was the Joker?

Porthos reached the front of the church and stopped, looking at the collection of statues arranged in a row behind the altar. The Joker had been here after all, and not too long ago – the paint was still dripping, shiny and wet in the pale beam of his flashlight and the light that shone in through the stained glass windows. 

Porthos stood still for a minute, shining his light on each statue in turn, wondering what would motivate this type of symbolic destruction. Why was the Joker so obsessed with the Church? Statues were probably expensive, he mused, following the drape of the Virgin Mary’s robe with his light, looking at the green streaks running down and splashing onto the ground around her. 

His light flashed on Mary, Joseph, a few more, each one with paint over a broken face. The last statue in the row looked to be some sort of saint, Porthos didn't recognize him, until he shone his light directly on its face and – 

“Boo!” The statue jumped out at Porthos and he startled, barely managed to stifle an undignified yelp, drew his taser with the hand not holding his flashlight. 

“Joker! You're under arrest.”

“Oh, Porthos, Porthos. I thought we were past all that.” The Joker sidled towards Porthos, blowing a kiss with his painted red lips. 

“There is no ‘we’, and you're coming with me.” Porthos brandished the taser, and the Joker laughed, wild peals that echoed in the cavernous church. 

“Oh believe me, I’d love to.” How was it possible that everything Porthos said came out wrong? But that's what the Joker always did, he twisted your words until you couldn't remember what you were even trying to say, until all you could think about was what that lipstick tasted like… 

“Enough, Joker, we’re not doing this again.”

“Again? We barely got started last time. C’mere, Porthos, if you can catch me you can arrest me.” 

Porthos shook his head and stepped forward. He wasn't sure what would happen if he did manage to capture the Joker, but he was an officer of the law, and he damn well had to try. 

* * *

Every cheesy training montage he had ever seen ran through d’Artagnan’s head as he swam in the hotel pool. The stereo actually played  _ Eye of the Tiger _ at one point. He was exhausted, muscles aching and eyes burning, but he was determined to get two more laps in before calling it a night. Any little bit of strength and stamina he gained could make all the difference in the confrontation with Labarge.

After the surprise breakfast with Athos de la Fere and his friend Porthos, d’Artagnan’s day had been a whirlwind. Athos had talked with the hotel manager before leaving, took care of his room bill and upgraded his package to include all his food and access to the gym and pool. He'd also left some gift cards for the local mall, so d’Artagnan had made a quick supply run, focused mostly on the camping and survival supplies store. New jeans, a black vest with lots of pockets, a tactical belt with pouches, even a baton like the police carried. They sold guns, too, but d’Artagnan would be happier if he never saw a gun again; he certainly wasn't going to buy one of his own. 

D'Artagnan had a quick lunch in the food court, and then finished his Athos-funded shopping spree with a trip to the Apple Store for a new laptop. The afternoon and evening passed unnoticed as d’Artagnan researched Labarge’s activity over the past few years. Hopefully he’d find a weakness, a clue, something to give him a starting point for taking down his father's killer. 

* * *

Porthos had the Joker pressed up against a cold marble column, hands braced on his shoulders to hold him in place, lips locked together in a deep, seeking kiss. Red lipstick was smeared all over both their mouths, but Porthos didn't care. Or – no – he  _ liked _ it, liked knowing he was messing up the Joker’s carefully imperfect makeup, leaving his own marks, however impermanent. The Joker was moaning, little breathy sounds, and had one leg curled up around Porthos’s waist, pulling him close, grinding their bodies together.

Eventually Porthos broke the kiss and pulled back, panting, still holding the Joker in place. His eyes, usually wild and mischievous, were heavy-lidded now, the effects of the kiss still showing in his heated gaze, the hard heat in his pants. 

“What's your name?” Porthos asked. “Your real name, I mean, not Joe Kerr like you told me last time.”

Joker laughed, looked away, eyes glancing over the defaced statues before returning to Porthos. 

“My name is for my friends,” he said. 

Porthos leaned in to kiss Joker again, stroking one hand up into his hair, green over brown curls.  

“What d’you call me, then? D’you kiss all your not-friends like this?”

“My  _ friends _ don't try to arrest me,” Joker said, and then he giggled again. “We can try the handcuffing part, though, that's always fun!” He waggled his eyebrows, as if Porthos wouldn't get the joke, but before Porthos could come up with an answer there was a swoosh and clatter behind him, and the Joker’s eager struggle to get close turned into a desperate attempt to escape.  

Porthos turned around, one hand still on the Joker’s shoulder, to see the Batman standing just a few feet away from them. He must have jumped down from the balcony. 

“Give it up, Joker, you're coming with me.”

“Are you two reading off the same script? I'll tell you what I told Officer Dreamy here, I'd love to.”

“Hey!” Porthos shouted at Joker. “I told you not to call me that. And you –” he turned back to Batman – “I have the situation in hand, we don't need your vigilante kind here.” 

Batman took a step towards them both and Joker ducked behind Porthos, staying out of his reach. Porthos could hear him snickering and muttering “in hand, well in hand,” but tried to ignore it as the Batman stalked closer. 

“I'm just here to help,” Batman started, but Porthos interrupted with a scoff.

“Don't need your help, or want it.”

“Gotham needs me,” Batman insisted. “There's too much crime for you to keep up.”

“Well then join the police!” Porthos said. “Forget all this flying around at night business. Where'd you even get that outfit?”

Porthos reached behind himself to grab hold of Joker, but found only air. He whirled around just in time to see a flash of purple coat disappear out the nearest door. Once again, the Joker had escaped justice. 

“You see?” Porthos shouted. “I had him and then you showed up, and now he's got away!”

“Yes,” Batman said, quiet and composed. “You sure had him, all right. Is that lipstick on your face?”

Porthos ducked his head and wiped at his mouth, smears of red coming off on his thumbs and the backs of his hands, and when he looked up again he was alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does Porthos manage to redeem his reputation after being caught red-handed (and lipsticked)? Will Batman ever accept that Porthos doesn't want his vigilante assistance? Find out next week - same Bat-time, same Bat-channel!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first confrontation with Labarge does not go exactly as planned.

The first few hours of the stakeout weren't bad. Porthos ate candy bars, listened to music, and tried to distract himself from thinking about the Joker. 

He had plenty of other things to mull over – that cute but tragic out-of-towner d’Artagnan was one, his gorgeous and unattainable friend Athos was another, and his chagrin over Batman catching him and the Joker fooling around was good for about forty-five minutes of self-recrimination. Eventually even that gave way to boredom, and Porthos was considering packing it in for the night when the car he'd been waiting for pulled in. 

Porthos had spent hours poring over traffic camera footage from the scenes of five recent assaults. Each was committed in a different part of Gotham, but each victim had described the same assailant: tall, clean-shaven, close-cropped dark hair, with a scar on one cheek and a gold tooth. He hadn't caught the man on camera, but the same car was parked near the scene of each crime; it seemed like a rookie mistake but Porthos wasn't questioning it. The DMV records connected the car to this address, an empty warehouse owned by a shell corporation, and tonight Porthos would get his man.

Or so he thought, until the car door opened and the driver stepped out. He matched the description, as far as Porthos could tell, and even from half a block away, Porthos knew he had the scar and the gold tooth. Everyone in the GCPD knew it, because the man who Porthos had been waiting for turned out to be Captain Labarge. He probably should have made the connection already, but who would think that the head of the SWAT team spent his free time raping and killing the citizens he was sworn to protect?

Porthos hit the button on his radio to call Dispatch.  

_ “This is control, what’s up Duvallon?” _

“Yeah, I'm at 33589 Riverside, got eyes on that assailant I was tracking. He’s alone, can you send a team?”

_ “We're pretty backed up right now, got a bomb threat over at the JCC and a multiple vehicle collision on the freeway. Gotta transfer you to SWAT.” _

“No, wait –” Porthos protested, but the dispatcher was gone, already on to the next call. The radio crackled, and a man came on.

_ “What's your situation,?” _

“This is Detective Duvallon requesting backup at 33589 Riverside, over.”

_ “What are you doing there?” _

“My job. Are you gonna send a team or what?” 

_ “No can do, sorry. It's on the list.” _

“List? The hell d’ya mean, on the list?”

_ “We don't operate there without the Captain’s permission. Better ask your CO. Anything else?” _

Shit. Shit shit shit.

“Nah. Over and out.”

He probably shouldn't be surprised that SWAT wouldn't help take down their own Captain, but was he really going in alone? What choice did he have? Porthos had been operating without a partner since Charon had quit the force; he was under orders from Captain Bonacieux to call for backup when facing a dangerous situation, but that didn't always pan out, especially on nights like tonight. 

It wasn't really a question, despite the risk – if Porthos didn't act now, Labarge might hurt someone else. Porthos had joined the GCPD to prevent exactly that, and wasn't about to stop now. He took a deep breath, and thumbed the button on his radio again.  

“Dispatch?” 

_ “Yeah,” _

“Struck out with SWAT. My target’s been here ten minutes, he could leave any time. I'm going in, send backup when you can.”

Porthos disconnected, ignoring the squawk of protest from the overworked dispatcher. After a quick perimeter check and glance at the warehouse – still dark, appeared to be deserted – he headed back around to the trunk. Extra clips for his handgun went in his pockets, bulletproof vest went on over his shirt, and two not-entirely-standard-issue flashbangs clipped onto his belt. 

“We should have shotguns for this kind of gig,” Porthos muttered, slamming the trunk shut and turning towards the dark warehouse. Still no sign of life, no indication that he’d been seen; hopefully that was true and he hadn't just set himself up as an easy target, asking for a shot to the head before he even got inside. 

* * *

“ _ No! _ Come on, Porthos, what are you doing?” Batman said to no-one as he watched Porthos through night-vision lenses, cape fluttering behind him.

Athos had set up special traces on Porthos’s car radio and cellphone GPS early on in his time as Batman, allowing him to listen in on calls to the dispatcher and track down Porthos's location in seconds. He tried not to abuse it, but sometimes it was all Athos could do to not follow Porthos around on his patrols, just to make sure he was safe. 

As soon Porthos disappeared into the building, Batman was moving, knowing that even if the police sent backup he wouldn't let Porthos go up against Labarge without being close by, ready to help. The warehouse was in one of the rougher parts of town, and that was saying something. Athos should've tracked Labarge down himself, the DMV records were a good idea. Nobody could say Porthos wasn't a great cop, not while Athos was around. But he'd let himself be distracted by d’Artagnan, and now if Porthos got hurt, Athos would blame himself. 

The sound of a flash grenade broke Batman out of his thoughts, and he slipped into the building through an unlocked rooftop access door, clicking the button in his cowl to disable the night-vision in favour of a heat sensor overlay. 

The door led to a catwalk around the outer wall of the warehouse, with a clear view of the floor below – crates stacked up high but with no apparent plan, narrow paths between them leading to dead ends as often as open space, and a few crates knocked over, contents spilling out onto the concrete floor. 

At the far side of the building was an office area, with a work table and file cabinets. The table was cluttered with weapons – mostly machine guns, but Batman also saw a rocket launcher – and there were two open duffel bags that held stacks of cash. 

A sound drew Batman’s attention back to the crates closest to his own position, and his eyes narrowed at the sight of Labarge approaching Porthos from behind, hidden by a turn in the pathway. They were both already showing signs of a fight, Labarge bleeding from his head and Porthos holding one arm close to his chest with the other hand; it looked like his shoulder might be dislocated. Porthos was leaning against a crate, and as Labarge approached Porthos let go of his injured arm in order to draw his gun. 

Batman saw his chance and took it, jumping from the catwalk and leading with his feet, hitting Labarge square in the back and knocking him onto the floor. He pressed his advantage, slamming a fist into the back of Labarge’s head, knocking him forward against the ground where he remained, unconscious. 

Porthos came around the corner, gun aimed at Batman and Labarge, left arm hanging limp at his side. 

“What –” he said, and then stopped as he took in the scene. “Oh.” Porthos was panting, sweat shining on his brow, but his gun was steady. 

“You're welcome,” Batman said, glad that the voice modulator built into his cowl would keep Porthos from realizing who was under the mask.

“For what, assaulting a citizen? I had him under control.”

How could Porthos be so foolhardy, so headstrong? 

“You're injured. I'm just here to help.” Couldn't he see that? 

“I don't need help,” Porthos said. 

Were they really going to have this argument again, here and now? Before Batman could answer there was a crash from nearby, and they both turned towards the sound. In one corner was a door, painted red and apparently not locked – it was just swinging shut, and standing in front of it, staring wild-eyed at both of them, was Charles d'Artagnan. 

* * *

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Porthos said. “Is he with you?” What was the kid doing here?

“I –” Batman stammered, “no, he –”

“Oh fuck off, why do I have to be with him?” D’Artagnan said. He pulled an ASP baton from a side pocket and swung it menacingly to expand it to full length. “I'm here for Labarge. You know why.”

“Aren't we all,” Porthos muttered, turning back to where Labarge was lying on the ground. “Oh shit.” Labarge was gone, a puddle of blood marking the spot where he’d been lying. 

“Are there any other exits?” Batman asked. 

“Two on this level, this one and on the east side,” Porthos answered. “Not sure about upstairs.”

“Just one,” Batman answered. “We have to make sure he doesn't get up there to escape, or get to the weapons.”

We? They weren't a “we”, not by a long shot, but Porthos wouldn't risk Labarge getting away. 

“You go back up, then,” Porthos said to Batman, hoping Labarge couldn't hear them. “I'll head around the crates to the other door. Hopefully we can corner him.”

“What about me?” D’Artagnan protested. 

“Stay here and stay out of trouble. Or better yet, leave.” Porthos knew he sounded cold, but d’Artagnan was a civilian, too emotional and in no way trained to take on someone as dangerous as Labarge. He turned away before d’Artagnan could respond, catching a look between Batman and d’Artagnan out of the corner of his eye that he couldn't quite interpret.

Porthos walked around the perimeter of the crates, his injured left arm still hanging limp, the pain unnoticed in the flood of adrenaline. Was backup coming yet? As soon as Captain Bonacieux heard what he'd done she would send a team, but if she was working the bomb threat she might not find out any time soon. He glanced up at the catwalk, seeing shadows move that might be Batman. There was something familiar about him; not his face, but the way he stood, the way he tilted his head… the way he looked at d'Artagnan. 

Stepping softly, Porthos stalked Labarge through the crate maze. The warehouse was quiet but not silent; he heard the scrape of a foot, something being dragged, but couldn't tell if it was Labarge or d’Artagnan. Each time Porthos rounded a corner he expected to see Labarge, but he must know the layout of the warehouse better than Porthos did, since he remained out of sight. 

Porthos turned another corner, the table of weapons coming into view, now missing some of the weapons and the two duffel bags. Labarge must have taken them, but where did he go?

“No you don't!” d’Artagnan’s voice broke the silence, and Porthos was running back towards the fire door before the echoes faded. How had Labarge gotten around them? It didn't matter; Porthos had to focus on the situation at hand first, but if d’Artagnan was hurt… that was everything Porthos had come here trying to prevent! 

The door was in view, and d’Artagnan stood in front of it, baton in hand. Labarge was huge, bigger than Porthos and heavy with muscle, full bags hanging from his hands. As Porthos ran closer d’Artagnan rushed him, raising the baton and bringing it down on Labarge’s shoulder. The duffel bag fell to the floor but Labarge didn't waver, turning fast to lash out at d’Artagnan, a knife suddenly in his hand. D'Artagnan fell back, blood spurting from a wound in his arm, and Labarge was around him and out the door. 

Porthos hit the door running – he hated to leave d’Artagnan but if they couldn't catch Labarge in the act it would be all for nothing. Labarge was already in his car, pulling away as Porthos ran to his own, fumbling for his keys. They weren't in his pockets, had they fallen out when he fought Labarge? The few seconds delay was more than enough for Labarge to escape; Porthos had no idea where he would go to hide out, and there was no point in trying to tail him now. 

“Fuck!” Porthos shouted. He turned back to the warehouse, heading back inside to see what the damage was. 

Batman was kneeling over d’Artagnan, holding a cloth to the stab wound. The duffel bag remained on the floor a few feet away.

“He gonna be ok?” 

“Should be. It missed the major arteries, but he'll need stitches and rest.” 

“Not going to the hospital,” d’Artagnan protested. “Gotta catch Labarge.” 

“You're not catching anyone in this condition,” Porthos said. “You need medical attention.” 

D’Artagnan struggled to his feet, a mulish expression on his face.  

“I hate hospitals,” he said. From outside, Porthos heard sirens approaching. Captain Bonacieux must finally be on the way. 

“You can come with me,” Batman said. 

“You're gonna stitch that up?” What was Porthos even thinking, he should be arresting both of them for interfering in an ongoing investigation, not letting them go!

“I, uh… I have a guy?” Batman sounded oddly hesitant, and somehow Porthos found that more reassuring than anything he’d done yet that night. D’Artagnan was nodding, leaning on Batman a bit and looking nervous as the police cars got closer. 

“You’d better go, then,” Porthos said. “Can't be here when the Captain arrives. I'll… I don't know, I'll tell her something.”

Batman nodded, d’Artagnan said thank you, and then they were both headed out the door and around to the back of the warehouse as Porthos stood out front, waiting to greet his cavalry. He wasn't sure how they'd get back to wherever they were going, but Batman seemed to be fairly on top of things, even if he hadn't been very useful tonight.  

As the police cars pulled up and officers started piling out, Porthos caught sight of a man across the street, standing in the shadow between two streetlights. He was wearing a long coat, it looked black in the yellow streetlights but... was it maybe purple? And even from twenty feet away Porthos could see that he was smiling, grinning wide. Only one man smiled like that, but it couldn't be him. Could it?

Porthos was about to head over there and find out for sure when Captain Bonacieux arrived, yelling even before she was out of the car. 

“What the hell do you think you're doing, going in alone like that?” 

“Captain, I –” 

“You could have been killed! Are you injured?” 

“I know, but –” 

“What happened to your arm? Jimmy, get a bus over here”!”

By the time Porthos could look around again, the street was empty. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's the "guy" Batman mentioned, can he really heal D'Artagnan? Is Porthos in trouble for botching Labargs's arrest? What's the Joker going to do next? Find out next week! Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman takes d'Artagnan home for some TLC, and Porthos seeks the same from Joker, to limited success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Canada Day, friends and lovers! Hope you enjoy this chapter. If you prefer not to read the sexy bits entirely, you can do so by skipping the segment starting with Porthos getting out a condom.

“I'm fine, I don't need stitches.” d’Artagnan was in a fair amount of pain, but it didn't matter. He needed to get back to his hotel room, get back on the police scanner and figure out where Labarge had gone. 

“You do need stitches,” Batman answered, glancing towards the approaching police cars as he led D'Artagnan to the back of the warehouse and down an alley running south. “And you can't go up against Labarge alone, you could be killed.” 

“Thanks for that vote of confidence.” Batman was walking fast, d'Artagnan had to work to keep up. Why was he even bothering? He could just leave. “You're quite the team player yourself, I could tell Porthos was glad to see you.” Batman tensed up at Porthos's name, but didn't slow down, taking them through a narrow gap between two buildings. “Where are we going, anyways?” Come on, something had to get a response.  

“Home,” Batman said. “Get in.” There was a car, parked in an alley almost too small to hold it. A black car, d’Artagnan could barely see it in the dark, but Batman did something that woke it up, headlights coming on and handles popping out of the flat door panels. Okay, then. Home would be interesting. 

* * *

Porthos had suffered through Captain Bonacieux’s ire over his recklessness, and the EMT putting his dislocated shoulder to rights, but he refused to go to the hospital. He’d had worse, and knew how to take care of his injuries. Besides, medical attention wasn't what he wanted tonight – that flash of red lipstick was floating in his mind's eye, and Porthos needed to find out if the Joker was involved in Labarge’s crimes, even though he knew he should be keeping his distance from the laughing madman.  

That was how Porthos found himself alone and unarmed at the Laugh Track, the comedy club where he thought Joker might hang out. It was dark and dingy, sparsely-attended at this late hour. He ordered a beer, turned around to lean back against the bar, listening to a blonde woman with a high-pitched voice doing terrible stand-up. He’d spent hours waiting for Labarge earlier today; hopefully he wouldn't have to wait as long for the Joker to show up.  

* * *

Batman drove fast. D’Artagnan wasn't sure if it was a technique intended to prevent him from knowing where “home” was or just the way he always drove, but damn. It was a good thing the passenger seat had a full harness instead of just a regular seatbelt. 

Home turned out to be in the suburbs, d’Artagnan couldn't see much since there were no streetlights but he got an impression of space, trees, and stately manor houses set far back from the road. 

Then they were driving toward a rock wall, careening towards it, and d'Artagnan had to fight with himself not to scream as they crashed. Except they didn't crash, they went right through the wall into a tunnel, brightly lit and opening out into a space with another car and two motorcycles parked. And… was that a  _ butler _ ?

Batman pulled the car into into an empty space, shut it off, and turned to d’Artagnan, who was undoing his harness. 

“You know what? Forget it,” d’Artagnan said. “Thanks for the lift, but can you take me back to my hotel?” 

“What?”

“This is a waste of time, my arm’s fine, and I need to get back to finding Labarge.” 

“D’Artagnan, I've been trying to bring Labarge to justice for years, since the day he gunned down my parents in cold blood. Do you really think that you'll be able to stop him on your own?”

“Maybe not, but why should I trust you? I don't even know you.”

“That's not entirely true,” Batman answered, reaching up to do something at the sides of his head. The bottom half of his face, the part not hidden by the mask, flickered and changed. Then he pulled the mask off entirely, shaking out his hair as d’Artagnan stared, briefly speechless. 

“... Hi,” Athos said. 

“You!”

“Yes.”

“But – but you're Athos de la Fere!”

“Yes.”

“You can't be the Batman, he's – and you're –”

The passenger-side door opened, d’Artagnan nearly toppling out backwards. The butler looked in at them both, a bland expression on his moustached face. 

“Good evening, sir. I see you've brought a friend home?” 

Athos ducked his head a little, his cheeks flushing, hair falling down over his forehead. He suddenly looked about ten years younger.  

“Treville, this is Charles d’Artagnan. D’Artagnan, my butler, Jean Treville. He'll be stitching up that wound in your arm.”

“Ah,” Treville said, “yes. Right this way, Mr. D’Artagnan.”

“Thanks” d’Artagnan, getting out of the car and following Treville. 

They were in a giant underground space, like a natural cave that had been expanded, built up. Treville led d’Artagnan past a space with workout equipment and around a bank of computers to a small medical area, with a bed and some cabinets, and motioned for him to sit down as he rummaged through drawers.

“All right, let's have a look at you,” Treville said with a reassuring smile.

* * *

After a few awful sets, the highlights being cancer and dying pets, Porthos was contemplating leaving and trying again tomorrow. How much did he really want to know if Joker was involved with Labarge? Was it worth  _ this _ ? Thankfully Porthos was interrupted with a tap to his shoulder; he turned around to see the bartender looking nervous. 

“You, uh, you're wanted out back,” he said, jerking his head towards a door near the back of the room. 

“Oh yeah?” Porthos asked. 

“He said to tell you it's Joe. Said you'd know.” 

Porthos nodded his thanks, took one last fortifying sip of his beer, and headed outside. 

The alley was dark, lit only by a streetlight at one end, and Joker was leaning against the brick wall playing with a light-up yo-yo. He looked up as Porthos approached, smiling wide as always and pocketing his toy. 

“Rough night?” 

“So that  _ was _ you outside Labarge's place. Are you working with him?”

Joker grimaced, turned his head to spit on the ground. 

“Give me some credit! I don't work with scum like him.” 

How likely was it that Joker was telling the truth? Porthos knew he was a criminal, but he did have his own twisted sense of integrity...

“Besides,” Joker continued, “nobody but me gets to lay a hand on you. Labarge won't be around much longer.” 

“You know where he's hiding out?”

“Maaaaaybe,” Joker said, pushing off the wall and stepping into Porthos's space. “But forget about him.” He slid a gloved hand around Porthos's neck, tugged lightly on his hair. “Let's talk about me.”

“Yeah, all right,” Porthos breathed, and closed the distance between them. The kiss was rough, Porthos's tongue shoving into the Joker’s mouth immediately, tasting lipstick and candy. 

Joker’s hand tightened in Porthos's hair as the other hand grasped his waist, pulling their bodies closer together. Moaning, Porthos sucked on Joker’s lower lip, caught it between his teeth and tugged lightly. 

With a light growl, Porthos shoved the Joker back, pressing both his shoulders back against the wall. 

“You wanna talk about you? Tell me your name.” Joker just giggled breathlessly, squirming to get closer to Porthos again, while Porthos easily held him in place. “Fine; maybe not your name, but if you stop talking, I'll stop too.”

“Stop what? You're not doing anything.”

Porthos winked and dropped to his knees. 

* * *

D’Artagnan took the tray of roast beef sandwiches Treville had brought down after stitching and bandaging his arm over to where Athos was sitting at the big bank of computers. There was only one chair, so d’Artagnan set the tray down on top of a sturdy monitor and stood off to Athos's side. 

“What's this?”

“The Labarge file,” Athos answered. He was still in his Batman suit, sitting rigidly straight as he typed and uploaded photos from a USB stick. 

“I – I've been thinking,” d’Artagnan said, just as Athos said, 

“Look, I –” 

They both stopped, shared a soft smile. 

“You go first,” d’Artagnan offered. 

Athos paused, taking a deep breath and turning fully away from the computer screens to face d'Artagnan. 

“I feel… I've been Batman for a year, not long, but I like to think I've helped the people of Gotham City, in ways I can't do as Athos de la Fere.”

He looked up at d’Artagnan, his eyes troubled. 

“But I failed you. I wasn't good enough, fast enough to save your father's life. I would like your help to catch Labarge, but if you really do want to go back to your hotel and never hear from me again, I can have Treville drive you there now.”

D’Artagnan almost couldn't believe what he was hearing. How could Athos not know what he'd done, not understand the effects he'd had even before becoming Batman? 

“No,” d’Artagnan said, “no. I mean, yes, I would give – I'd give so much to have my father back. But you, Athos, do you have any idea what it meant to me when you came out as bi, on the cover of GQ? I was so alone, had no role models, no idea how to even _talk_ about it.” He paused for a moment, trying to keep his voice steady.  “Because of you, I came out to my father. You couldn't save his life the other night, neither could I. But you gave me the courage to tell him who I truly was, so – in a way, you gave us our life together, for all those years until now.”   

Athos was just staring at d’Artagnan, eyes wide and mouth open, like he was saying something brilliant and amazing. 

“I'll stay, but not for Labarge, and not for Batman. I’m staying for  _ you _ , Athos.” 

With that, d’Artagnan bent forward and kissed Athos. He pressed their lips together for a moment, realized that Athos wasn't responding, and backed away. Maybe this was a bad idea. Then Athos stood up, chair scraping roughly back over the stone floor, and took d’Artagnan in his arms. 

They kissed again and again, tongues caressing and teeth nipping at each other, Athos holding d'Artagnan with one arm around his chest and the other cupping the back of his head. D'Artagnan moaned and sucked on Athos's tongue. He wrapped his own arms around Athos, grabbing big handfuls of his cape as Athos leaned him backwards with the force of his kiss. Not such a bad idea after all. 

* * *

Porthos fished the condom he’d brought out of his pocket and it gently between his teeth by a corner of the wrapper, then used both hands to spread Joker’s coat open and tuck it out of the way between his ass and the cold brick wall. He explored Joker’s body through his clothes, listening to Joker moan and giggle at his touch. Muscular thighs, no belt, slim hips. One hand grasped the Joker’s half-hard cock through his pants and squeezed, the other deftly undoing the button and zipper fly. 

Porthos looked up at the Joker’s painted face and slowly tugged his pants and underwear (red with yellow smiley faces) down enough to free his dick. He took the condom out of his mouth and smiled, opening the packet and unrolling it onto the Joker’s dick. 

“I don't hear talking,” he said, and sucked the head into his mouth. Condom flavour wasn't as good as cock flavour, but Porthos did have  _ some _ standards, even if he was blowing a dangerous criminal in an alley. 

Joker laughed, tipped his head back against the wall, rocked his hips a little. 

“What to say, what to say. Feels – ahh – feels good.” 

Porthos bobbed his head, up and down twice, then looked up at the Joker with his eyebrows raised. 

“You look good on your knees. I've wanted this since we met.”

Porthos pulled off entirely, wrapping a hand loosely around Joker’s cock, sliding it up and down in the spit he’d left behind. 

“No, come on, talk about you.”

“Ha!” Joker’s laugh was explosive, manic. “You wanna know about me?” 

Porthos nodded, took Joker’s cock back in and swirled his tongue, sucked hard. It felt good, even wrapped in latex as it was, felt so good to finally have Joker in his mouth, under his control. 

“I'm allergic to avocados,” he gasped. “But what is life without guacamole?”

Porthos slowed down, stopped working his tongue against the underside of Joker’s thick cock. 

“I… I bought stock in Chanel and live off the interest? It's the only brand of lipstick I wear.”

Porthos pulled off entirely, again, shaking his head in half-serious disappointment. 

“You must not really want this,” Porthos said, starting to stand up. 

“No, no, I… ah… I'll be good,” Joker protested. “I may be the Joker, but I can be serious if I have to.”

Porthos settled back into position, wincing as his knees protested.  

“Wait a sec,” Joker said, shimmying out of his coat and handing it to Porthos. “Here, use this.”

“Thanks,” Porthos said, a little surprised at the consideration. He folded it in half carefully and kneeled on the coat, so much more comfortable than the hard concrete. “Now, back against the wall.”

“Yes, officer,” Joker laughed, but he obeyed. Porthos used one hand to hold Joker’s cock out at the angle he wanted, taking it halfway into his mouth, his other hand lightly resting on the Joker’s hip. He slid up and down, sucking and tonguing at the hard length, slurping up some spit while more ran down onto his fingers. 

“I wanted you,” Joker said, his voice oddly soft. “Since that very first time you nearly caught me, at that orphanage. You with your big – ahh – big strong shoulders and fierce eyes.”

Was he really telling the truth now, sharing himself? 

“Wanted you to fuck me right then and there, in front of all the screaming children.”

Yep; that was definitely the Joker’s style of honesty. Porthos kept sucking, stroked with the hand on Joker’s dick, careful that the condom stayed where it needed to. 

“Wanted to get you dirty, bring you down to my level. And look at you now, on your knees.” Porthos looked up, bobbed his head on that thick cock, met the Joker’s shining eyes. “But you don't feel down. Feels like you've got me right where you want me.”

Porthos nodded, wishing he could scrape his way off Joker’s cock with his teeth – he'd probably love the pain – but not willing to risk damaging the condom. Joker moaned, then giggled, stroked across Porthos's head with one gloved hand. 

“Wanted Batman too – I must be a masochist, don't you think?” 

Did Porthos really want to hear Joker’s fantasies about another man, a man he was often at odds with? He pictured Batman, in his full uniform with just his cock out, fucking the Joker like there was no tomorrow, and felt a twitch of arousal in his own aching cock. Apparently he did, so he kept on sucking. 

“Yeah,” Joker said, “I’d let the two of you double-team me, make me take it –”

“I’d make you beg,” Porthos interrupted, giving his mouth a break and stroking Joker’s cock, squeezing and tugging as his hips rocked in response. 

“So close,” Joker moaned, “come on, come  _ on.” _

Porthos's phone rang. He startled, fumbling with one hand until he could answer the call, sitting back on his heels and leaving his other hand on the Joker’s cock, keeping the condom in place. 

“Yeah.”

“Duvallon, this is Peralta. Captain wants you back at the station, ASAP. Got a ping on Labarge’s phone.”

Shit. “On my way,” Porthos answered. He ended the call, looking up at the Joker for a moment before getting to his feet and handing over his folded up coat. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” the Joker said. “Really?”

“Duty before pleasure,” Porthos replied, leaning in for a kiss. “Can I call you?”

“Do I look like a guy with a phone plan? I'll find you.” 

Porthos nodded and walked away, wiping the lipstick off his lips. This wasn't sustainable, so maybe it was for the best anyways.  

* * *

Batman moved from shadow to shadow, approaching Joker from the dark end of the alley. 

His phone call had worked perfectly; he and d’Artagnan had watched from above as Porthos had left and Joker tucked himself back in his pants, put his coat on and tossed the condom into a nearby garbage bin. Then they split up and returned to ground level, each taking an end of the alley so the Joker couldn’t get away again. As soon as d’Artagnan was in place they would take him. 

A car honked its horn twice – that was the signal. Athos stepped out into the light. 

“Joker,” he called. “We need to talk.”

Joker spun and ran, nearly reaching the street before d'Artagnan appeared as if from nowhere and grabbed him with both hands, tossing Joker back into the dark alley and up against a wall. 

“You know where Labarge is,” d'Artagnan said, “tell us.”

Joker laughed in his face. D’Artagnan smiled at him, then punched him in the mouth, splitting his lip open. Then d’Artagnan grabbed the Joker by his coat, standing him up straight against the wall. 

“Tell us,” Batman said, “and we'll let you go.”

“Oh sure,” Joker answered, his hands coming up to rest on d'Artagnan’s arms. He licked a drop of blood off his split lip. “I've heard that one before.” He yanked and squirmed, trying to get free.  

Batman looked from Joker to d’Artagnan, then back at Joker. 

“You're only making it worse for yourself,” he said, and then d’Artagnan leaned out of the way so Batman could hit the Joker twice, ribs and gut. D’Artagnan let the Joker bend forward in pain, but kept a tight hold on his coat. 

“Still –” Joker was gigging breathlessly. “Still not telling.”

“Clearly we can't let him go,” Batman said to d’Artagnan. 

“Guess not,” d’Artagnan said. “We could take him to the police.”

Joker tried again to escape, but Batman got a firm grasp on his hair and used that to yank the Joker upright again. 

“No,” Batman said, making the Joker meet his gaze. “I have a better idea.” With his free hand Batman pulled a coil of rope off his utility belt. “Hold him.”

As d’Artagnan held the Joker still, working hard to keep him in one place despite his increasingly desperate struggles, Batman tied his hands together, then wound the rope around his body to keep his arms at his sides. Finally he tied a loop of rope around the Joker’s neck, adjusted it until it was snug but not constricting, and held up the end in front of the Joker’s furious eyes. 

“I left your feet free, but I'm holding on. If you try to run, you'll choke before you get anywhere. Understand?” 

Joker didn't move, didn't say anything. D’Artagnan punched him in the back of the head, rocking his whole body forward with the force of it; Batman loosened the suddenly-tight rope before it could do any real damage to Joker’s neck. 

“I said. Understand?” 

This time, Joker nodded. Batman nodded back, then gestured with his head to the mouth of the alley. 

“The car’s up ahead. If you're good, we won't stuff you in the trunk. Now walk.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do Athos and d'Artagnan do with their captive Joker? What happens when Porthos finally figures out who's behind the Batman's mask? Find out next week - same Bat-time, same Bat-channel!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porthos and Athos have it out over Athos's Bat-secret, and then our heroes deal with Labarge once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter, friends! I really struggled with this one and hope you enjoy it. In case anyone's wondering, the big guy in the hallway is played by Jason Momoa. You'll know what I mean when you get there. Happy Saturday!

“Come on Treville, let me in,” Porthos insisted. He leaned around Treville’s body, blocking the front door, trying to see into the house. “Athos!” Porthos shouted. “I know that phone call was you, I'm not leaving.”

“I don't think Athos is home,” Treville protested, “and I'm sorry Porthos, but he specifically said not to –”

“ATHOS!” Porthos bellowed again. “Stop being a fucking coward!” 

“Now really,” Treville said, “there's no reason for that sort of talk. I can ask him to –”

“It's all right, Treville,” Athos said, walking swiftly up the dimly-lit hall from the back of the house towards the front door. “Let him in.”

Treville stepped aside and Porthos moved past him, meeting Athos halfway. 

“I know it was you,” Porthos said, “and more, besides. We need to talk.”

“Indeed,” Athos said with a slight nod. “Come into the study.”

Porthos followed Athos deeper into the house. They didn't spend a lot of time in the study, usually meeting at restaurants or sitting in the kitchen if they were here at the manor. He wasn't surprised to see d’Artagnan sitting in one of the leather wingback chairs, but also wasn't sure if his presence was a good idea. 

“Ath, I have a lot to say. Are you sure you, uh, wouldn't prefer some privacy?”

“It's fine,” Athos answered. “He already knows.”

“Oh does he!” Porthos threw his hands up in exasperation and turned to look out the big windows. Were they really going to do this in front of a near-stranger? “Puts him a step ahead of me, but we've only known each other our entire lives, that's fine.” 

“Porthos, no, I –”

“What could you possibly say, Athos?” Porthos couldn't contain himself. He turned back to face them; Athos was now standing beside the chair where d'Artagnan still sat, wide-eyed and looking at them both. “Now that I figured it out, it all seems so obvious. Of course Batman started showing up after you came back from your ‘ _ world tour’ _ . Of fucking course. Were you even doing what you emailed about while you were away, or was that all lies to cover for – I don't know, some sort of crazy training program? Do you really want to see me so often now, or am I just a convenient source of police information?”

“Hey!” Athos protested. “How could you even think that? Porthos, you know you're my closest friend.”

“Am I really?” Porthos tried to hold on to his anger, but it was swiftly giving way to a resigned sadness. “Friends tell each other things, Athos. Things like ‘hey, I'm the masked vigilante you've been having so much trouble with.’ Speaking of which, how did you disguise your mouth? I know your scar nearly as well as my own, how'd you hide it?”

“I'm Batman,” Athos said. “I have more advanced technology than even the US government. It's a hologram.”

“Oh, well that explains it. ‘I'm Batman.’ Sure. And what about the phone call last night?” Porthos's anger was back, flaring up hot and sudden. “Did you interrupt us on purpose? Couldn't stand to see me with someone like the Joker?  _ We _ are not dating, Athos,” Porthos gestured back and forth between Athos and himself. “You don't get to stop me from seeing other men.”

“Now wait a minute,” d’Artagnan said, standing up and physically getting in between them. “It wasn't like that, Joker has information on Labarge.” 

“Yeah? And how are you planning on getting it? Do you even know where he is right now?”

D’Artagnan looked at Athos, who wouldn't quite meet Porthos's eyes. 

“Oh, you guys are unreal. Where is he?!”

“Downstairs,” Athos said. “Come on; I'll show you.”

* * *

Athos led Porthos and d’Artagnan through the disguised door in the grandfather clock and down the stone stairway into his Batcave.

All these months keeping his secret, holding back from telling Porthos so many things he was proud of or excited about, hiding every success he had as the Batman, and the years before that when Athos knew Labarge was his parents’ killer but didn’t dare tell anyone, all that time, and now that Porthos was finally here, Athos couldn't even enjoy it. Hopefully later on he'd have a chance. His hopes of taking his relationship with Porthos to a new, more intimate level may be in shambles, but Athos couldn't let himself even consider the idea that their friendship may be over. 

Porthos looked around as he followed Athos into the Batcave, but didn't ask any questions or say anything else. Athos was rarely the focus of Porthos's anger, and wasn't sure the best way to deal with it now, but pushing him to talk if he didn't want to probably wouldn't help. 

The holding cell came into view. Porthos took the last few steps at a run, coming to a stop with his hands splayed on the plexiglass. 

“Joker!” Porthos said. 

Joker looked up at him, then turned away. 

Before locking him up, Athos had taken the Joker’s coat as well as frisking him, confiscating a variety of knives, guns, sugary snacks and cosmetics, but leaving his light-up yo-yo. Joker hadn't played with it, nor had he eaten the dinner or breakfast that Athos (well, Treville) had provided. Now Joker was sitting on the cot, hands dangling between his knees, seeming not at all pleased to see any of them. 

And why should he be? They were enemies, on opposite sides of the law. Athos knew it should be easy, clean, open-and-shut, but he was also confused at his own desires and impulses towards this criminal clown. Wanting Porthos was easy, they'd been together for years and Porthos was perfect. D’Artagnan, too, more complicated by the age difference and the circumstances that led to their meeting, but still understandable. The Joker, however… Athos couldn't explain it to himself, barely knew what he wanted beyond heated images and ideas that he saved for the dead of night when he was alone in his bed. 

“Why do you even have a jail cell in your basement?” Porthos asked Athos, drawing him back to the present moment. “Do you do this often?”

“I… wanted to be prepared?”

Porthos shook his head. 

“And you're not wearing a mask, did you tell him you're Batman before telling me, too?”

“No, he…” How to admit this without making Porthos feel bad? Maybe there was no way, but Porthos deserved Athos's full honesty. “He knew. Says he figured it out months ago.”

“Of course. Okay. Can we have a minute?” 

Athos nodded and walked over to the computers where d’Artagnan was updating the Labarge file, resting a hand on d’Artagnan’s shoulder. Although Joker hadn't yet revealed the location of Labarge's hideout, he had given them some details that would help flesh out the case against him, assuming they got far enough to use the information. 

“Are you two gonna be okay?” D’Artagnan was looking up at Athos with concern, his voice soft. Athos shook his head, not meaning no, but…

“I hope so? This changes things, no way around it, but… in the end, we want the same thing. We'll do whatever we can to make sure no other children suffer the way we did. I hope Porthos can see that.”

D’Artagnan reached up to hold Athos's hand. “I'm sure he will,” he said. 

Porthos walked up to them. 

“Okay,” he said. “Joker will help us find Labarge, in exchange for his freedom.”

“No,” Athos said immediately, “it's too dangerous. We can't turn a killer loose, even to catch another killer.”

“You know what? I'm not talking about him like this, he's a grown man. And he's hungry. Let's all discuss this over breakfast?” 

Athos met d’Artagnan’s eyes with a soft smile. If Porthos was eating, everything would be fine. 

* * *

Fifteen minutes later found them seated around the big kitchen table, eating pastries and drinking Treville’s excellent coffee.

Treville had even unearthed a box of Lucky Charms for Joker, who grudgingly accepted them and then ate handfuls right out of the box, marshmallows and cereal bits flying everywhere. Porthos watched D’Artagnan glance repeatedly in Joker’s direction, probably unsure if they could trust him in a room full of potential weapons, until Joker caught his eye and winked at him, and d’Artagnan got adorably flustered. 

“So,” Porthos started, willing to be the brave one, “let’s start with what we want. I want Labarge to stand trial for what he’s done. D’Artagnan?”

“The same. I want justice for my father.” D’Artagnan looked to Athos. 

“Of - of course I want to put him away,” Athos said, “but can we call it true justice if we set another killer free? You want to let Joker go in exchange for Labarge, but Joker’s killed four people this week, and those are only the ones that we know about!” 

“Now, be fair, two of those were just lucky timing,” Joker said.

“Not helping,” Porthos muttered.

“But seriously,” Joker continued, rolling his shoulders and sitting up straight, “I want my freedom. I’m willing to help you find Labarge.”

“Not good enough,” Athos said, “we can’t trust you if we let you go, you kill on a moment’s whim.”   
  
“He can change!” d’Artagnan said. Joker made a confused noise and looked at d’Artagnan across the table, as interested as Porthos and Athos were as to what he might say. “Joker could stop killing people,” d’Artagnan said. “Then you’d be OK with it, right? And Labarge kills as many people as the Joker, so it’d be worth it!” D'Artagnan nodded encouragingly, so young and hopeful. 

“We…” Porthos started, then hesitated. Was he really going to say this? Apparently he was. “We can keep you busy, you know. Redirect some of that energy of yours.” Porthos winked at the Joker’s dirty smile. 

“Would you really, Porthos? Take one for the team?” Joker bit his bottom lip and fluttered his eyelashes at Porthos. 

“You know it!” Porthos answered with a grin. “Keeping Gotham City safe by any means possible.”

“Well…” Joker drew out the word. Porthos could tell he’d say yes; what was he waiting for? “I could be convinced. Though I'm not sure if you’d be enough on your own. What happens if you're busy when these, uh, these  _ urges _ take me? Hmm?”

“I'm sure Batman can help.” Porthos volunteered his friend’s body and dignity blithely, certain Athos would consent for Gotham’s sake, if nothing else. “And the Boy Wonder here’s pretty cute, don't you think?” D’Artagnan immediately blushed and looked away, but Porthos could tell that he was a bit turned on by the idea. 

“All right,” Joker said. “It's a deal. You let me go, give me a reason to stop killing your precious citizens, and I…” Joker looked from Athos to d’Artagnan to Porthos, meeting each of their eyes in turn. “I’ll take you to Labarge’s place, I’ll get you inside, and I’ll help you catch him.”

Athos looked at Porthos, uncertain. 

“You want to, eh?” Porthos asked softly. “Oh Athos, always wanting to trust people, even after everything you’ve been through. Yeah, let’s do it.” They nodded at each other, then at Joker and d’Artagnan, little smiles growing into grins exchanged between all four of them.

“So,” Athos said, leaning in. “Tell us everything.”

* * *

It had all sounded so easy. Take two cars to the bar-slash-possible-brothel where Labarge was holed up, get inside, take out any random bad guys in their way – without killing anyone or getting injured themselves – and let Porthos arrest Labarge. Mid-morning on a weekday like this, they ought to catch him off guard and as close to alone as he ever was. Easy.

Which is why d’Artagnan was disappointed when they immediately got stuck on the “get inside” step. 

Joker had told them where the bar was, and Athos had then looked up building plans to give them a sense of the layout. The main floor was mostly the bar itself, with a long hallway on one side, off of which there was an office, washrooms and a stock room at the back of the building. There was also a staircase to the upstairs floor, but the building plans were probably unreliable in that area – there was no telling what kind of renovations they might have done for the brothel, and Athos hadn't had enough time to to hack into the building’s security cameras. They'd find out when they got there; likely the building structure hadn’t been changed, so he had a vague idea of where the hallway should be, at least. 

They parked a few blocks away and walked the rest of the way, as disguised as they could be. Athos and d'Artagnan were both dressed in quasi-military outfits made to look as much like regular clothes as they could; Porthos was in his own leather jacket and had significantly more than just his police-issued handgun concealed within.

All three were wearing hologram masks based on the same technology that Athos had in his Batman cowl, and d’Artagnan kept catching their unfamiliar faces out of the corner of his eye and startling before he remembered. The masks looked so real, he would have a hard time believing it if he hadn't looked in a mirror and seen an unfamiliar face looking back. It was a shame they had to choose between the masks and the infra-red glasses, but Athos had insisted on full disguises above all else. 

And then there was the Joker. They couldn't convince him to change his clothes, let alone wear a mask, though he had found time to re-apply his makeup. 

Problem was, no matter how much planning they did – and none of them were the type to plan every little detail anyways – they still had no way to know what kind of security system Labarge had at the bar. They could've tried to do recon at night when the bar was open, either posing as patrons or going as Batman and Crew and staying hidden, but then they'd lose precious time, leaving the city vulnerable. None of them was willing to wait. 

So here they were, four grown men standing at the back door of a run-down bar, hoping no one would notice them. There was a security camera which may or may not work, and may or may not be pointed in the right direction to see the door, they had no idea. 

Athos stepped back from where he was examining the door’s lock. 

“It's tied into the security system. I can pick the lock, but it would trip the alarm, give us away. Looks like it has to be unlocked from the inside.”

“Just do it,” d'Artagnan said. “They'll know we're here soon enough anyways, and if they all respond to the alarm we can take them out that much faster.”

“We can't risk Labarge getting away while we're fighting his friends,” Porthos responded. “We don't have enough people to cover the doors and go in, too.”

D’Artagnan nodded, dejected, and looked to Athos for support. It was sweet, how quickly they were growing closer. Porthos was sorry to lose out on his opportunity with Athos, and on what might have been something starting with d’Artagnan, but he couldn't begrudge either of them their happiness. And besides, he had this Joker situation now, he shouldn't let himself be so greedy. 

“So what do we do?” D’Artagnan asked. “We can't stay here much longer, if they haven't seen us yet they'll have to soon.”

Joker looked around, then nodded to himself. “See that dumpster?” He gestured to a big green bin a few feet closer to the side of the building. “Wait over there, it'll block you from the cameras. I'll be back soon.”

“Wait –” Porthos protested, but Joker was already gone, leaving a flash of red smile behind him like some kind of sexy Cheshire Cat. “...Okay then. Shall we?” Porthos led the way to behind the dumpster and the three of them settled in to wait. 

Trusting Joker’s information about Labarge had seemed like such a good idea in the safety of the Batcave. Even expecting him to stop killing sounded reasonable, Porthos could keep Joker’s energies directed elsewhere. D’Artagnan hadn't let himself think too deeply about his own potential involvement in that sort of thing, though he suspected the scenario would show up again in his fantasies, if he ever got past thinking about what might happen as Athos unwound and they got more comfortable with each other. Not to mention the hotness that was Porthos, so big and strong, fiercely protective but always ready with a kind smile… Joker had some stiff competition in d’Artagnan’s fantasy life. 

Still, skulking behind a dumpster as the minutes drew out was not what d’Artagnan had expected from this plan. Were they all just idiots to believe Joker would come back? Athos already looked nervous, though Porthos was casually unconcerned. Maybe he was faking. 

“So, how long are we gonna wait?” d’Artagnan asked, masterfully suppressing the urge to scratch at his mask. 

“Only five more minutes,” Athos said, at the same time as Porthos said,

“Give him a chance, he'll come through.”

They looked at each other. Porthos chuckled and Athos shrugged. 

“Okay then,” D'Artagnan said. “Well, if he doesn't come back, what's the plan?”

“Knock on the front door, see who answers?” Porthos suggested. 

“Direct, I like that.” Athos seemed to be considering it. “If we can subdue whoever answers before they alert anyone else we may have an advantage.”

“Let's give Joker more time, though,” Porthos said. 

“The longer we wait, the more vulnerable we are.” 

“Ath, he promised. Give him a chance.”

Athos nodded, and they fell into silence as they kept waiting. 

It wasn't much longer before d’Artagnan saw movement – the door was opening! He glanced beside him to confirm that Porthos and Athos had seen it too, and they had, both standing alert and attentive. It opened in the other direction, so they couldn't tell who was coming out until the Joker’s messy half-green hair popped around the edge of the door and he whistled at them. Porthos's face lit up with that wide, sunny grin d’Artagnan was coming to cherish. 

“See? Told you!” Porthos jogged over and kissed the Joker, pulling his taser out as he went inside; Athos followed him, d’Artagnan bringing up the rear. Joker remained in the doorway, frowning as Athos passed by without a glance, still holding his face up for a kiss. D’Artagnan flushed as approached, darted in for a quick peck on the lips, then stepped forward into the darkness. 

“How'd you get in?” D’Artagnan asked in a low voice. He turned and locked the door behind him – no sense letting anyone else follow them in. 

“Bathroom window was easy to open from outside,” Joker answered. “Had to wait for someone to finish his morning piss before I went in. Would've been faster if I could kill people.”

“Yeah, well,” d’Artagnan wasn't sure how to even answer that. “Glad no one saw you waiting by the window.”

Joker grinned in agreement, or maybe just because that was what he did, and together they followed Athos and Porthos past the stock room’s set of double swing doors and down the dingy hallway. Ugly linoleum floors and walls with peeling paint, flickering fluorescent lights, but nothing to indicate that this was the hideout of one of Gotham's worst criminals.

“He's probably upstairs,” Porthos said. 

“What if he's in the office?” d’Artagnan asked. 

“We’ll check,” Athos said. “I'll go, cover me.”

Athos continued towards the front of the building, d’Artagnan close behind as backup. Porthos and Joker held back, leaning against the wall side by side, keeping an eye on the other doors.

Athos knocked on the office door. There was no answer. He looked back at d’Artagnan, mouthed the words “be ready”, and opened the door. It was empty. 

“It's clear,” Athos said to Porthos and Joker. “I want to take a look around, okay?”

“Make it quick,” Porthos said. “We don't exactly look like we belong here, even with these faces.” 

Athos nodded and went into the office. d’Artagnan followed him, shut the door behind them and locked that one as well, to delay any unexpected visitors. 

There was no computer, just a battered old desk covered in papers, a bulletin board on the wall, and a gunmetal grey file cabinet. Athos immediately opened the first drawer and started rifling through papers, while d’Artagnan looked over the desk. There were order forms for beers, a repair invoice for a plumber, inventory sheets, a Stella Artois glass used as a pen holder. A stack of job applications. Nothing suspicious. The bulletin board sported flyers for special events, business cards, a list of employee phone numbers – d’Artagnan took the pin out of that one and brought it over to Athos. 

“Thought this might be worth a look later on,” he said, holding the paper out. Athos looked at it, back up at d’Artagnan, and shut the drawer of the file cabinet. 

“Good work,” Athos said.

“Thanks,” D'Artagnan replied, trying to contain his thrill. Athos –  _ Batman _ – was impressed with d’Artagnan’s detective skills! 

“I've got nothing useful. We should get back out there.” 

Athos was right, and the longer they kept Porthos and Joker waiting the more likely it became that they'd be discovered, but d’Artagnan wanted to kiss Athos right then and there. What's more, he  _ could, _ he was welcome. Athos wanted him. How could anyone resist when the man they'd idolized for years was right here and they had permission to touch? 

D’Artagnan didn't even try to resist. He pulled his mask off as he walked across the small office to Athos, peeled Athos’s mask up just enough to bare his beautiful, scarred lips, and kissed him deepthy, thoroughly. He licked into Athos's mouth as soon as it opened to him, tasting Athos's tongue, feeling it slide against his own, loving that this liberty was allowed to him. D’Artagnan sucked on Athos’s lower lip, nipped at it with his teeth, and was about to see if he could coax Athos's tongue into his own mouth when a shout from the hallway had them jumping apart, putting their masks back on, quickly unlocking the door and running out without even wiping the taste of each other off their lips.

* * *

 

It was weird to be just standing beside Joker, waiting. Usually they were fighting or fooling around, but they didn't have time for either right now, and Porthos needed to stay focused. After a few minutes, Joker pulled his yo-yo out and started playing with it, occasionally snickering to himself, though Porthos had no idea what he might find funny in this situation. 

“You think he'll let you keep the mask?” Joker said with a sly smile. “I kinda like the look of this guy.” 

Porthos snorted. “Can't blow you properly with this thing on my face.”

“Forget it,” Joker grimaced. 

More time passed, not more than ten minutes, and Porthos was about to go knock on the office door to make sure everything was okay when a man came through the door from the bar into the hallway. He was huge, taller than Porthos and broader than him too, he took up the entire hall and easily cut off their access to the office. 

“Who’re you?” he asked gruffly. 

“Ah, I'm the Joker,” Joker said, gesturing to his face as if the answer should be self-evident – he wasn't wrong, who in Gotham didn't know the Joker? “We have a meeting with Labarge, is he around?”

“He didn't tell me about a meeting.” The man looked suspicious, took a step closer towards them. “And your friend looks like a cop.”

“Me? Nah,” Porthos tried, but it was clear that he wasn't believed. They had to take him out before he alerted anyone upstairs. Porthos glanced at the Joker, then pulled the taser from where he’d been hiding it behind his body and pulled the trigger. It connected, electricity flowed, and the giant barely faltered before he was coming towards them again. Porthos charged, aiming his first punches at the man’s face, hoping a broken nose would end the fight quickly. 

He wasn't that lucky; for a big man, his opponent dodged quickly and nimbly. Porthos knew how hard that could be and was almost impressed despite himself. Porthos found himself taking punches and kicks faster than he could return them, and just when he thought he was about to gain the upper hand by yanking on the big man’s long hair he took a hard blow to his shoulder. The same shoulder that had just been dislocated. It was the kind of hit, in fact, that could pop a shoulder right back out of its socket, and Porthos fell to his knees with a shout of agony. 

He felt a rush of wind and a boot on his hip - Joker had run up and used Porthos’s body as a jumping-off point, launching himself onto the other man’s back in a whirlwind of colour and barely-restrained fury. The two of them careened down the hallway, bouncing off walls, and past them Porthos saw Athos and d’Artagnan finally emerging from the office, both breathing hard. D’Artagnan’s hologram face was crooked. 

Choked sounds brought Porthos's attention back to the fight – Joker had the string of his yo-yo around the big man’s neck and was pulling it tight. Already his face was turning red, and he kept trying to bash Joker against the walls to dislodge him, but Joker was too wild to be stopped. 

Athos stepped up to them both, held up one hand, and sprayed something directly in the man’s face. His eyes rolled up and he fell to the ground, Joker slithering off him and landing on his feet like he'd practiced the move.

“Thanks,” Joker said to Athos as he wound the string back onto his yo-yo, ignoring the blood that stained it. “No one hurts my Porthos.”

“Indeed,” Athos said, the tiniest hint of a smile on his face. Porthos stood up and nearly fell right back down as a wave of dizziness passed over him. 

“We’d better check that there's no one else in the bar,” d’Artagnan suggested.

“Wait with him,” Athos said to Joker, as though he would do anything else. Porthos sat with his back agains the wall and let Joker smooth his hair back from his forehead, fold his coat into a cushion for his injured arm, and stand guard with his gun drawn. Where did the Joker get a gun? 

“All clear,” Athos said. “We locked the door and turned off the sign, so we should have some quiet. Let's move Porthos out of the hallway.”

“I can walk,” Porthos said, though his shoulder seemed to hurt even worse than last time. 

“Good, because we can't carry you without using both your arms,” Athos answered. “Up you come.”

They helped Porthos stand up, Joker ducking under his good arm, Athos supporting his back, and d’Artagnan opening the doors. Settling him in a chair in the bar area was an operation marked by grunts and groans, but it didn't take long.

“How are you?” Athos asked. 

“Fine and fit,” Porthos answered. “Now go.” His voice was strained, but he felt more present and less like he might pass out at any minute. “I'll call the Captain, that'll give us about ten minutes.”

“Not sure if this is the best time to mention this, but uh…” d’Artagnan trailed off when he realized they were all looking at him, then shook his head. “We didn't think about what to tell the police.”

Right. That was quite an oversight. 

“Someone's gonna come downstairs soon, so you’d better get going,” Joker said.  

Athos looked at Porthos a bit longer, assessing his state and probably thinking through five different strategy changes to accommodate his injury. 

“I'll go. You three wait here, take care of Porthos if anyone else shows up.”

“What? No,” d’Artagnan protested immediately. “We’re not sending you up there alone, we don't even know how many guys he has up there.”

“I have more experience than you,” Athos said. “You could be hurt. Look at Porthos!”

“Leave me out of this,” Porthos said. 

D’Artagnan ignored him, focused on Athos. 

“Labarge killed my father, Athos. I have just as much right to be here as you.”

Athos shook his head, but seemed to accept it. He looked at Joker, who was still fussing over Porthos's injured shoulder. 

“Fine. Then we all go,” Athos said. He didn't explain his reasoning, but Porthos knew Athos still didn't trust the Joker not to kill someone and then disappear, and at this point Porthos wouldn't be able to stop him. 

Joker bared his teeth and snarled at Athos, but Porthos shook his head. “He's right, babe, they need you. I'll be fine, I've got my sidearm. Go on; I'll call Cap and think about what to tell them.” 

D’Artagnan nodded first, eager to get upstairs and get Labarge. He bent down in front of Porthos's chair and leaned in for a careful hug, which Porthos gladly returned. 

“Be careful, kid.”

“As careful as you,” d’Artagnan answered, and blushed when Porthos cupped the back of his head in one hand and planted a kiss on his forehead. 

Then Athos stepped in, leaning forward for a hug of his own. “Your phone all charged up?”

“Mhm,” Porthos confirmed, and tugged Athos close with a hand on his cheek. Instead of kissing his forehead, though, Porthos took a chance and brought his lips to Athos's, crossing that boundary for the first time in their many years of friendship. It was brief and dry but still sweet, loving, and Porthos thought he could feel Athos's lips trembling beneath his own. When he released Athos he smiled gently and leaned back, resisting the urge to soften the moment with a joke. Athos just looked at him, then walked over to stand beside D'Artagnan at the doorway to the hall. 

Joker had been watching, of course, and when Porthos held out his good hand Joker placed a tube of lipstick in it. Chanel; Porthos recognized the logo. 

“For luck,” Joker said, kissing Porthos fast and hard and then tugging his deep-purple gloves snug on his hands as he went to stand with the others. 

“Don't be gone long,” Porthos said with a weak smile, and then they left and he was alone. He took off the mask and folded it into a pocket; no sense in giving the GCPD all Batman’s secrets. Time to make a phone call.

* * *

 

Athos led the way to the stairwell, pausing at the door to turn to d’Artagnan.

“Are you sure you don't want to stay here?”

“You just want some time alone with the Joker,” d’Artagnan teased. Joker snorted a sardonic laugh and shook his head; Athos ignored them both. 

“Okay, here's the plan. We know there's a long hall with rooms off both sides. I'll take point, d’Artagnan behind me, Joker at the rear. We’ll clear each room as we pass, left side first. No killing, not even Labarge. Agreed?” 

They both nodded as Athos passed out handfuls of zip-ties. Joker brandished his yo-yo, lights flashing, and d’Artagnan snapped his baton to its full extension. Athos pulled a taser from his side pocket and started up the stairs. 

The first two rooms were empty, just beds with rumpled sheets and side tables with condoms and lube packets strewn about. The third room was occupied by a grey-haired man fucking a young Asian woman. D’Artagnan pulled the John off the woman and Athos zip-tied his wrists before he fully registered what was happening. Joker punched him in the mouth, and Athos couldn't bring himself to disapprove – the woman was crying and it looked like she had been slapped in the face more than once. Athos punched the John once himself, for good measure. 

D’Artagnan spoke quietly with the woman for a moment; then she gathered some clothes and headed for the stairwell. 

“Porthos will look after her,” he said to the others. 

The next room was much the same – same bed, same side table, even another grey-haired man, though this one was flat on his back with a boy writhing in his lap. He looked barely older than d’Artagnan, and suddenly Athos couldn't help imagining d’Artagnan in the same position, riding him – or Porthos, or even Joker, and where was this coming from? But the idea was compelling and Athos was still trying to shake the visuals from his overwrought mind when Joker took the lead, stepping into the room. 

“What the fuck? Get out of here!” The boy was not pleased to be interrupted. 

“We're here for Labarge,” Joker said. 

“Well he's not in here.” The boy didn't stop moving – maybe he was the John, and the older man on the bed was his client? 

“Are you cops?” the man asked. 

“Yeah, and there's more downstairs,” d’Artagnan answered. 

“Shit, I'm out,” the boy said, getting off the man. Morbid curiosity drew Athos's eyes to the older man’s dick, he had to look at the faded wallpaper for a minute until the urge passed. “Labarge will find you for the cash.” 

They let the boy leave, but when the man tried to get up, Joker pushed him back to the bed by one shoulder. 

“Noooo, you're staying here. Hold out your hands.”

He did it, palms up like he expected a present, and Athos quickly zip-tied him.

“You can put your pants on, but don't try to leave. We weren't lying about there being police downstairs. If you cooperate, and give evidence against Labarge, we can ask them not to charge you with anything. Yes?”

The John nodded, shoulders slumped in defeat, and Joker backed off so he could get dressed.

“Good. Wait here.”

* * *

D’Artagnan couldn't help following the kid out of the room, leaving Athos and Joker to deal with the old man. His need to stop Labarge burned fierce and strong within him. There were three rooms left, and the one across the hall from where he stood was empty. He’d check the next one on the left, then, like Athos said.

With a steadying breath, d’Artagnan grasped his taser in his right hand, turned the handle with his left – still holding his baton – and opened the door. Not a bedroom; there were leather couches, a desk, a flat-screen tv tuned to a football game. The air was thick with cigar smoke and although there were several men in the room d’Artagnan had no idea how many, exactly, because he’d locked eyes with Labarge and nothing else existed anymore. D’Artagnan pulled off his mask and let it fall to the floor. 

“My name is d’Artagnan of Lupiac in Gascony. Prepare to fight. This ends here.”

Labarge just sneered, unmoving. D’Artagnan stepped forward into the cramped room, heedless of the other men, the danger, not even considering how he would get Labarge out of his chair; his body wouldn't let him stand still anymore. 

Two men appeared in front of him, one holding a gun while the other cracked his knuckles menacingly. D’Artagnan tazed the armed man in the face, barely containing a grin as he fell to the floor writhing with electricity flowing through him. The other thug took a swing at him and d’Artagnan ducked fast, reaching out with his taser. He pressed it up against the man’s belly and pulled the trigger, watching him fall, unconscious. 

Someone yanked d’Artagnan back and to the left, and he looked around just in time to see Joker take a hatchet to the arm. Joker fell to the ground with a scream, blood flowing between gloved fingers clamped hard over the wound. Behind them, Athos charged into the room, fury plain on his face despite the mask he still wore. D’Artagnan crouched down to check that Joker was still alive; he was, but he wouldn't be much more use in the fight. 

“Thanks,” d’Artagnan whispered. “That axe would've been in my back. How bad is it?”

“Not great,” Joker replied. “Can't… ah, can't move my fingers.”

“Can you make it back downstairs?” The fight raged around them, Athos managing to keep d’Artagnan and Joker safe within the eye of the storm as the office was destroyed around them, thugs falling to the ground in agony or fleeing in defeat. Hopefully Porthos was rounding them up – how long did they have until the police arrived? 

“Yeah.” Joker struggled to sit up. “I'll help him with anyone who gets past him.”

D’Artagnan nodded and helped Joker stand, met Athos’s eyes briefly as Joker left the room. There were only a few men still standing, and Labarge remained in his chair. As d’Artagnan squared off against one man holding a baseball bat he saw Athos make a come-on gesture to the other two, and if his own fight hadn't taken all his attention d’Artagnan would have loved to watch Athos work. He was like a shadow, never where he seemed to be, impossible to get a handle on him. D’Artagnan’s opponent fell to a strong head-strike from d’Artagnan’s baton and suddenly the room was silent. 

Labarge stood up. Athos stood ready, fists up, breathing steady. D'Artagnan couldn't see anything to suggest that he was getting tired, or emotionally invested in this fight at all, though he knew Athos had worked longer and harder to get here than anything else he'd done in his life.

The fight began, and if d’Artagnan had thought Athos was a whirlwind before he now had to redefine the term. Athos landed every strike, dodged every punch, moved fast and smooth like a dancer. D’Artagnan couldn't help, there was no opening for him to jump in and he knew by now that Labarge was too much for him anyways. Until he saw a gun, lying on the ground. He didn't know much about handguns, they weren't a part of his life growing up the way schoolyard fights had been, but he’d seen movies and knew enough. Picking it up, d’Artagnan checked that the safety was off and then waited for his chance. 

Athos was breathing hard now, but Labarge was bleeding from a head-wound, it had to be obscuring his vision. The fight continued and they were so evenly matched that d’Artagnan would have been worried if they didn't have everything good and true and right on their side. Even so, it was close. Then suddenly Athos kicked out to the side, stomped down with his steel-reinforced boot onto Labarge’s leg. The crack of bone was loud and unmistakable and Labarge fell to the ground.

“Are you hurt?” Athos asked. D’Artagnan shook his head, not willing to look away from Labarge; he might get up again, maybe he was playing possum; he'd done that before. Though he looked like he was about to vomit from pain, that was hard to fake. 

Athos nodded and moved around the room, examining each fallen henchman’s injuries, zip-tying some to furniture, binding hands together for others. A few he turned onto their sides, probably so they wouldn't suffocate on their own blood and spit while they were unconscious, even if they did deserve it. D’Artagnan still couldn't look at anything else, couldn't believe that this killer, his father’s murderer and threat to so many other innocent people, was finally here in front of him.  

D’Artagnan raised the gun, pointed it right at Labarge’s head as he lay prone with his broken leg twisted under him. This was it, he could avenge his father, make Labarge pay for what he'd stolen from d’Artagnan, from the whole world. The only sounds were his own breathing, harsh and ragged, and his heartbeat pounding in his chest.

“Charles.” Athos's voice cut through the deafening silence, rich and low like honey. “Charles, we got him. Put the gun down.”

D’Artagnan’s hand shook but he didn't lower his weapon. How could he, when Labarge was right here in front of him, finally in his sights? How could he call himself a good son when his father's killer still lived? 

“I can't,” d’Artagnan said, his voice thick with pain. “I know what we said, but I need to do this.”

“What would your father think?” Athos asked, so softly that d’Artagnan could barely hear him. “I've wondered that myself, for years. Would my parents want me to kill him? Or would they want me to make Gotham a better place for everyone who lives here?”

D’Artagnan laughed a little hysterically, but kept his eyes on Labarge, still so intimidating. 

“It's up to you,” Athos continued. “The choice is yours. I know what my choice is, but this one I leave to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What decision does d'Artagnan make? Where do Athos, Porthos, d'Artagnan and the Joker go from here? Find out in the final chapter, next week - same Bat-time, same Bat-channel.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos and Porthos train d'Artagnan in the art of crimefighting. But will the Joker ever return home?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter is here! Hope you enjoy.

The Batcave was cool and dry, but d’Artagnan glistened with sweat as he moved through the katas Athos had taught him. His long hair brushed his shoulders, but Athos couldn't quite bring himself to call it a liability. 

“Getting a good view?” d’Artagnan called out to Athos, a teasing smirk on his lightly-stubbled face. 

“You're wearing far too many clothes for any such thing,” Athos answered, and much to his delight d’Artagnan stripped down and finished the kata series entirely naked. He managed to not look ridiculous, which Athos took as proof of his own head-over-heels-in-love state more than anything else. 

D’Artagnan remained naked through his workout and hand-to-hand sparring, presenting an interesting distraction for Athos. Perhaps not a scenario he would encounter in other circumstances, but it was always best to be prepared. D’Artagnan pressed his advantage and won the spar, for the first time since he’d started training seriously.  

“Maybe I should use this technique in the field,” d’Artagnan laughed as they headed to the showers Athos had built in the Batcave. 

“It could work,” Athos answered slowly, pretending to seriously consider a naked sidekick. “Might get us arrested for different reasons than usual.”

“Worth it.” D’Artagnan stopped Athos in the washroom door. “Hey - seriously, how am I doing?”

Athos stopped, looking into d’Artagnan’s wide, dark eyes. Did he really not know?

“Charles, I didn't agree to take you on because you're my lover. You're driven and passionate, strong and smart. And you'd be out there even if I didn't train you.”

D’Artagnan didn't even pretend to be chagrined about that one. 

“You're progressing well, faster than most people would. Just keep working on head over heart, okay?”

D’Artagnan smiled, and Athos realized he's said “head over heart” at least three times daily since d’Artagnan had started officially training with him. 

“Right now I'm listening to an entirely different body part,” d’Artagnan said, and pressed up close to Athos, kissing him firmly. Athos might need to amend “head over heart” to include other relevant appendages, but that could wait. 

* * *

_ Masked Vigilante Finds a Friend? _

Sylvie Boden, Gotham City Gazette

> Gotham City’s crime rate has fallen in recent months, and despite the GCPD’s hidebound insistence that vigilantism remains illegal it has not escaped this reporter’s attention that the arrival of the Batman coincided exactly with the start of that decline. Now it seems the Caped Crusader has a companion, as criminals and police alike report seeing two shadowy figures dispensing their own brand of justice. 
> 
> With a red chest on his black suit, the new flying fighter has earned the nickname “Robin.” One police officer who answered questions on the condition of anonymity shared the following. 
> 
> _ “It was bad enough when it was just one maniac flying around, but with two you never know what to expect. Maybe we can use them, with perps like Mr Freeze and Catwoman running around, I dunno. Police work was easier when it was just us cops. Now Batman leaves thugs gift-wrapped on the precinct steps and we have problems with the chain of evidence when we try to book ‘em. If John and Jane Q Public are safer walking down the street that's good, but something’s gonna have to change in the long-term.” _
> 
> Whatever comes next, if Gotham’s citizens are safer, it can't be a bad thing. 
> 
> _ For more on the history of costumed crime in Gotham City turn to page 17. _

* * *

“All right, kid.” Porthos spoke quietly and clearly. “There are three gold keys, carried by three different operatives somewhere here in the West Gotham Mall. Your mission is to get all three and bring them to the parking garage before the bomb goes off.”

“Yeah, okay.” D’Artagnan had been working on his sleight-of-hand skills with Porthos almost daily since they'd captured Labarge, but this was the first time taking it into the real world, and his usual reckless confidence was escaping him at the moment. He took a moment to breathe, trying to calm his racing heart by thinking through the mission parameters. “Wait, wait. A bomb?”

“Don't worry,” Porthos chuckled, “no bomb. We wouldn't do that to you – not on your first try. Oh, and watch out for the mall cops; Athos would hate having to bribe them to clear your record.” Porthos strolled off into a nearby store, leaving d’Artagnan on his own, the clock ticking.

The first key wasn't too hard, it was on the Starbucks bathroom key ring; Flea’s sudden presence as a barista gave it away. She looked at home in the green apron, serving up lattes, but d’Artagnan knew she was a friend of Porthos’s and likely to be called in for a gig like this. Flea handed over the bathroom keys with a sunny smile, d’Artagnan returned it moments later, minus one. 

The second key was a bit more of a challenge; it was prominently displayed in the Louis Vuitton shop window, in a turquoise mannequin’s hand. D’Artagnan glanced around, hoping inspiration would strike, and finding it in the unassuming doorway of a maintenance closet. He ducked inside, emerging moments later wearing a set of coveralls with “West Gotham Mall Maintenance” on the back and “Geoff” on the name patch; hopefully Geoff wasn't due to come on shift any time soon. He also grabbed a box of lightbulbs, bringing it over to a willowy sales person. 

“Got a call to replace a bulb in the window?” D’Artagnan said, doing his best to smile winningly and not worry about the time passing as she considered calling a manager. “It'll just take a sec, wanna get it done before I go on break.” She nodded and unlocked the display entrance, and d’Artagnan sidled through, careful not to knock anything down and call more attention to himself. Three minutes later he was throwing a dead lightbulb in the trash and leaving Geoff’s clothes where he had found them, the second gold key safe and sound next to the first on his key ring. 

He still had thirty minutes left, but d’Artagnan was getting worried about where the last key might be. He walked the length of the mall and back again, searching while trying to remain inconspicuous. Just as he entered the nearly-deserted Sears d’Artagnan caught a glimpse of Porthos walking around in the Ladies Underwear section. He made his way over there, slowly, picking up a couple t-shirts on the way, maintaining his cover. Porthos showed no sign that he knew d’Artagnan was there, whistling to himself and aimlessly picking through a rack of bras. From twenty feet away d’Artagnan could see the key, hanging off Porthos's belt. 

Five minutes left. D’Artagnan approached, unsure how he’d get the key. Then circumstances conspired in his favour – a lost child, crying, wandered into Porthos's vision, and d’Artagnan moved in as Porthos spoke comfortingly to the little boy. Porthos was nodding and making sympathetic noises, all attention on the boy, and d’Artagnan lifted his keys as he walked by, jostling a rack of clothes to cover the sound of keys jingling. The clip Porthos used would've given d’Artagnan trouble, but he’d practiced with this exact one until his fingers bled, so he was pretty confident. 

Making his way down to the parking garage, d’Artagnan clipped the third key onto his keychain next to the others. Porthos was waiting for him by the car. 

“So?”

“Good work, kid,” Porthos said. “Especially with the second one, good technique to be invisible in plain sight.”

D’Artagnan flushed for the praise. Porthos was kind and generous in his personal life, but as a teacher he was exacting and demanding, nearly as much as Athos was. Praise of this nature was rare, and all the more genuine for it. 

“Bad luck on the third key, though.” 

D’Artagnan shook his head in disbelief, holding up the keys to show Porthos. 

“But I found all three,” he said, trying hard not to whine. 

“Did you?” 

D’Artagnan looked at his hand, trying to see if somehow he was counting wrong, but there were definitely three keys. Was this some sort of Captain Picard and the Cardassian situation? 

“You lifted it well,” Porthos said gently, “used circumstances to your advantage, but that key was a decoy. Charon had the real one. See how that one’s a different colour?”

It was, a bit more brassy. 

“Shit. How many people did I kill?”

“Bomb here? Not that many, the parking garage is pretty quiet this time of day.”

“Still,” d'Artagnan sighed, shrugging Porthos's comforting hand off his shoulder. 

“Come on,” Porthos said, ruffling d'Artagnan's hair. “Two outta three ain't bad. Let's go for ice cream; you can buy.”

* * *

_ Where’s Joker? _

Sylvie Boden, Gotham City Gazette

> Gotham City citizens know their names - Two Face, Poison Ivy, the Penguin. Criminals and killers, but none quite so unsettling as the very first costumed criminal in Gotham, the Joker. For months the Joker waged a one-clown war on the Catholic Church, defacing holy statues and stealing or destroying the charitable gifts donated by so many good people, with no qualms about killing anyone who got in his way. Recently, however, there has been no sign of the Joker, leading this reporter to wonder if he’s been killed or simply run out of town by the Batman. 
> 
> The GCPD has issued a statement calling for continued vigilance. This included a veiled request for funding from the city to expand their Major Crimes Unit, headed up by the recently-promoted Detective Porthos Duvallon, responsible for investigating and stopping crimes committed by this new breed of outlaws. Duvallon himself has been credited with taking down a major prostitution and blackmail ring centered around Vinnie Labarge, former head of the GCPD SWAT team. 
> 
> “I couldn't have done it without the support of the entire Gotham City Police Department,” Duvallon said at a press conference earlier today. “We worked as a team to track this murderer down and bring him to justice, and I look forward to testifying at his trial later this month. As for the Joker, I don’t know where he went, but if he’s listening, I want him to know that I won’t rest until he’s back where he belongs.”
> 
> Until the Joker’s whereabouts are determined, Gotham City will remain on the lookout. 
> 
> _ For more on the Labarge gang, turn to page 5. _

* * *

It had become a pleasant routine, eating breakfast in the Batcave before Porthos went into work, after Athos and d’Artagnan -- Batman and Robin -- got home from patrolling Gotham’s streets all night. Treville was an excellent cook, despite his claims to the contrary, and Athos treasured the time they spent together. Even on mornings like this, when Porthos and d'Artagnan bickered like children. 

“Poison Ivy would kick Freeze’s ass!” D’Artagnan was nearly shouting, gesturing with a forkful of eggs. “You should’ve seen her tonight, she’s really fast with those plants, and the only thing that stops them is fire.” He took a bite of toast, talking even with his mouth full. “Fire, Porthos, not ice.”

“Right, but --” Porthos took a drink of his coffee and then set it down, out of the way of d’Artagnan’s flailing hands. “Mmm. Thanks, Treville. OK, see, kid, all her plants won’t do any good if she can’t grow them. Ice is gonna prevent that.”

“Still think she’d win,” d’Artagnan said petulantly. 

“Children,” Athos broke in. “I’m sure we’ll have the opportunity to find out exactly who would win in fairly short order, since Ivy has sworn to avenge Freeze’s destruction of Gotham’s plant life. Can we please not argue amongst ourselves?”

D’Artagnan and Porthos both looked a bit surprised at Athos’s stern tone, eyes widening as he spoke before they sheepishly smiled at each other. 

“Sorry Porthos,” d’Artagnan said. “You know how keyed-up I can get sometimes.”

“No worries,” Porthos answered immediately. He went around the table to hug d’Artagnan, all tension gone from the room. Porthos took a deep breath and sighed, clearly comforted by the hug. “I just… ah, you know. I miss him. Sometimes it gets to me.”

“Of course.” When it came to feelings about the Joker, d’Artagnan had an easier time comforting Porthos than Athos did. Maybe it was because he had met them all at nearly the same time, or because he hadn’t spent years wanting Porthos, still-unmet desire urging him towards possessive jealousy, but in any case, that’s where they were. Porthos missed the Joker, and Athos couldn't quite bring himself to help with that, but neither could he admit that he wanted Porthos for himself. What kind of selfish man was he, that he wasn't satisfied with the beautiful d’Artagnan? And if he truly accepted that he desired Porthos as well, where would it stop? Would Athos have to own up to his secret dreams of having the Joker as well? 

“C’mere, Ath,” Porthos said, pulling him out of his spiralling thoughts with an outstretched arm and a wide, welcoming grin. Athos smiled a bit and shook his head, stepping in close and letting himself relax as d’Artagnan and Porthos each put an arm around him. He could deal with the Joker when he returned, if he ever did. Until then, Athos would focus on what was in front of him, and let the future take care of itself.  

 

* * *

**Bonnaire:** And we’re back! The time now is 10:37 pm, and you’re listening to Gotham’s only all talk all the time station, WGTM. I’m Emile Bonnaire, here every night from ten to midnight, and boy do we have a treat for you tonight, listeners. That’s right, Gotham’s own prodigal son, billionaire boy baron, flirty philanthropist Athos de la Fere is here in studio. How are you tonight Mr. de la Fere?

**Athos** : I’m well, thank you. 

**Bonnaire:** Great, great. Let’s jump right in, you’ve been a household name in Gotham since your parents were killed back in the 80’s -- 

**Athos** : And I’d prefer not to talk about that, as I think my assistant said.

**Bonnaire** : Oh sorry, sure. So these days, you run the De La Fere Foundation, can you tell us a bit about that? 

**Athos** : Yes, of course, happy to. The Foundation was actually started by my parents, we focus on social services including providing breakfast and lunch services to schools in low-income areas, literacy programs for adults, that sort of thing. I’m glad to be able to give something back to Gotham. 

**Bonnaire** : The Foundation also helps victims of the more unusual crimes, right?

**Athos** : We do have a fund designated for victims of violent crime, which in recent months has supported people affected by not only typical gun violence and assault but also criminals such as Poison Ivy and Mr. Freeze, yes. I do prefer to focus on the good work we do, such as expanding Gotham’s meals on wheels program to the suburbs and improving the quality of the food provided.

**Bonnaire:** And that’s splendid, truly splendid. Of course, there’s also another aspect to all of this, one that our listeners are divided on, and that’s the Batman. Tell us, Athos, don’t you think Gotham would be better without the Batman?

**Athos** : You sound like a friend of mine. And of course, I wish the Batman weren’t needed, but that’s easy for me to say, sitting up in de la Fere Manor. I think if you ran afoul of Poison Ivy in an empty park at night you might be glad of the Batman's assistance. 

**Bonnaire** : That’s what the GCPD is for. Wouldn’t you say Batman does more harm than good, what with all the destruction of property he’s responsible for? I have a report here that says one of Two Face’s henchmen is suing Gotham City for not protecting him from the Batman.

**Athos** : I certainly wouldn’t like to comment on what sounds like an open investigation. Let me simply say that I prioritize the safety and liberty of Gotham’s people.

**Bonnaire** : And we’re going to leave it there. Thanks so much for joining us today, Mr. de la Fere. Stay tuned, we’ll be back right after this quick break with advice for life and love with Ninon de Larroque.

* * *

 

“FUCKING YES!” D'Artagnan's voice echoed around the Batcave. “I win, you lose, I am the God damn CHAMPION!”

“The hell’s going on?” Porthos's confused face poked around the side of the Batmobile, taking in d’Artagnan’s exultant form doing a victory dance before settling on Athos, looking on calmly from his seat on the little rolling stool he used to work on the car.

“Remember the caltrops?” Athos asked Porthos. 

“Yeah; you and Treville couldn't get them working on the passenger side?”

“Who's got two thumbs and fixed that fucker?” d’Artagnan crowed, pointing both thumbs at his own chest. “This guy!!”

“Way to go, kid!” Porthos grabbed d’Artagnan and pulled him into a one-armed hug, ruffling his hair with the other hand. “I knew you belonged with us, right from the start.”

“Oh sure,” d’Artagnan laughed, squeezing into the hug for a minute and then pulling away. “I seem to remember a certain someone calling me a “civilian” and telling me to leave.”

“Yeah, well, what are you gonna do.” Porthos looked at Athos and shrugged, flushing at the small smile on Athos's lips. He really had no idea how gorgeous he was.

“I'm gonna shower, is what I'm gonna do. And since I'm fixing things that've been sitting around for a while, I'm gonna say something else before I go.”

Porthos looked at d’Artagnan, then back at Athos. Where was he going with this?

“You two,” d’Artagnan gestured between Porthos and Athos, “have been pining after each other for as long as I've known you. Probably since before I was even born.”

“Shut up, I'm not that much older than you,” Athos protested weakly, but d’Artagnan kept going. 

“You need to talk about it. I don't know if you wanna just have a quick fuck, or date, or just talk about it and then ignore it again, but… this can’t go on.”

“I don't…” Porthos started talking, but didn't know where to end that sentence. 

“You do. You both do. And I do too, or I would’ve said something before now. I don't know where the Joker is, I hope he comes back, but right now he's not here, and we are. Don't lose the chance to have what's right in front of you.” D’Artagnan looked into Porthos's eyes, hope and desire plain on his face. He turned to Athos, looked like he was about to say something else, then shrugged and walked away.

“Well. I would say that was unexpected, but with Charles, we should've learned to expect anything.” Athos said dryly, standing up and moving closer to Porthos. 

“Still can't believe he lets you call him Charles.”

“Yes, well, maybe once you've sucked his brains out through his dick he'll let you, too.”

Porthos laughed, turning to look at Athos more directly. His face was streaked with motor oil, his coveralls were dirty, and there was a hope in his eyes that Porthos hadn’t seen before. Athos had never been more gorgeous. 

“I’d rather start with you,” Porthos said, “but, somehow I never thought you’d want me.”

“I was afraid.” Athos stepped close, into Porthos’s space, eyes never wavering from Porthos's own. 

“So was I. And now?”

“Still afraid. Kiss me anyways.”

Porthos cradled Athos's face in his hands, fingers splaying across his cheeks. One thumb stroked the soft skin under Athos's eye. Porthos licked his lips, took a deep breath, and leaned in. 

It was perfect. There was the moment of panic – _would things be weird forever after? When was the last time he'd brushed his teeth?_ – and then Athos's lips parted, Porthos’s head tilted, and they were kissing like everything in the world depended on it. Athos clung to Porthos's arms with all his considerable strength,  and Porthos slid one hand around to cup the back of Athos's head, fingers tightening in his hair and holding him in place. With his other hand, Porthos grabbed Athos's ass and tugged him in tight against his body. Athos groaned, shoving his tongue into Porthos's mouth before literally climbing him, arms around his neck and legs around his waist and grinding against Porthos like he needed to get as close to him as possible, _get_ _inside him,_ and Porthos's mind filled with all the different ways they could make that happen, he and Athos, his best and most frustrating friend. Slowly he pulled back, holding Athos up easily with one hand, giving him smaller kisses to calm them both down just a little. 

“Still afraid?” Porthos asked. 

“Not one bit. You?”

“Never. Not while we're together.”

* * *

_ GCPD SWAT Captain Vinnie Labarge convicted of first-degree murder, assault. _

Sylvie Boden, Gotham City Gazette

> Gotham City’s courthouse was packed today as Vinnie Labarge, former Captain of the GCPD SWAT team, was convicted of one count of murder in the second degree and five counts of assault. Labarge also stands accused of several counts of sexual assault, running a prostitution ring, and benefiting from the profits of blackmail, as well as charges stemming from the unlicensed bar that he operated. Sentencing will be held until the pending accusations are resolved. 
> 
> The whirlwind trial began two months ago, shocking the city by revealing that Gotham newcomer Charles d’Artagnan had worked with the police to capture his father Alexandre d’Artagnan’s killer. Detective Porthos Duvallon, who was interviewed by this reporter regarding that arrest, did not mention Mr. d’Artagnan’s involvement until it became a matter of public record in the Labarge trial. There were apparently two other people assisting in Labarge’s capture: one an anonymous patron of the bar who has since eluded identification, the other being that criminal known only as the Joker. 
> 
> The Joker’s continued absence from Gotham City posed no threat to the prosecution, as there was sufficient evidence found at the scene of Labarge’s capture to arrest and detain the former GCPD Captain, and eventually to convict him. 
> 
> Athos de la Fere, billionaire businessman and orphan who has for years maintained that his parents were gunned down by a man marching Labarge’s description, made a brief statement to the press on Mr. d’Artagnan’s behalf. 
> 
> “We want to thank the brave people of the Gotham City Police Department and the District Attorney's office, for their diligence and dedication to justice. Without them, especially Detective Duvallon and Captain Bonacieux, this case may never have come to trial. It can't bring Charles’s father or my parents back to life, but our hope is that the people of Gotham City will be safer, and no one else will have to endure such a loss. Thank you.”
> 
> Mr. d’Artagnan himself declined to speak with the press, leaving immediately after the verdict was announced. 
> 
> As Labarge’s trial continues, the question on everyone's mind now is how he operated a crime ring for years, or possibly decades, from within Gotham’s own police department. Did he have help from someone higher up? Will the DA pursue this line of inquiry as the assault and blackmail charges are explored? Keep reading the Gotham City Gazette for our in-depth coverage. 

* * *

It was always weird to be alone in the Batcave. Hell, even  _ calling _ it the Batcave was weird, but when Batman and Robin were there working on an investigation or exercising – which they both did, at levels even Porthos with his years of gym work thought were a bit excessive – it made sense. When he was alone it was cavernous, each footfall echoing, and although he’d gotten more comfortable as time passed, Porthos wondered if he'd always feel a bit like an outsider. After all, he didn't wear a cape, and a police uniform wasn't exactly a costume.

Athos kept the area neat and tidy; one of d’Artagnan’s first duties had been cleaning up each night while Batman was out patrolling the city streets. Now that they both went out together most of the cleanup work fell to Treville, same as with the rest of the Manor. He had missed something, Porthos saw as he approached the big table where they often shared dinner. The table that used to be up in the kitchen, where they'd once sat with the Joker, planning how to catch Labarge and making a tentative peace that both Batman and Joker could live with. It hadn't worked, of course; Joker disappeared before the police had arrived at Labarge’s bar, but when Athos brought the table down to the Cave, Porthos was glad. He liked to remember how it had felt when the four of them were together, however brief it had been. 

Porthos took a breath, sat down at his usual spot. It wasn't helpful to dwell on what might have been, not when things were going so well with Athos and d'Artagnan now. Porthos still wasn't allowed to call him Charles, but he was pretty sure he was getting close, only another couple blowjobs to go. The table was made of a light wood, and was bare except for the box that Treville had presumably left out on purpose, which sat right in the middle. Porthos pulled it a bit closer to himself to take a better look. It was a purple cardboard box, tied with a green ribbon. How long had it been since he'd seen those colours together like that? 

When Porthos turned the box around he realized there was a tag hanging from the ribbon, and it had his name on it. That was it, just “Porthos”, the handwriting unfamiliar. What was Treville playing at?  _ Was _ it Treville who had left the box there?

It had his name on it, and it wasn't likely that anyone had gotten into the Batcave undetected only to leave a bomb for them, there was way too much security in the place. So Porthos undid the green ribbon bow and opened the box. Inside, nestled in orange tissue paper, were his missing keys. 

“Honey, I'm hoo-ooome!” The Joker’s voice called out, echoing all around him, and Porthos nearly jumped out of his chair, spinning around and around, trying to find the source. Not by the computers, not by the showers, not – there! Joker stepped out of the shadows by the cars, looking exactly the same as always: clown makeup gone wrong, green hair and purple suit, breathtakingly sexy and mad as a hatter. “Did you miss me?” 

Porthos shook his head, laughing softly as he approached the Joker. 

“How'd you even get in here?”

“That's what you ask? I'm gone for months and you ask how I got into a damp little hole in the ground?”

“Ah, fuck it,” Porthos said, and kissed him. His lipstick still tasted the same, just like Porthos had dreamed it night after night, and Joker felt so good in Porthos's arms, warm and strong and really, truly here. The white makeup on Joker’s face smeared under Porthos's hands as he licked the Joker’s teeth, sucked on his lower lip, growled at the feeling of Joker’s gloved hands around his waist. It had been so long, and so much had changed, but kissing the Joker felt like the final steps of coming home. 

When they broke apart, breathing hard, the Joker started giggling immediately. 

“It really wasn't hard, you know. I had your keys.”

“Then you could've come back ages ago! Why'd you stay away? Is your arm ok?”

“Ah, it’s fine.” Joker ran a hand through his hair, looking a bit hesitant. “I was working?”

“Really.”

“Yep! Had to bring my master plan to a close before I could resurface, you know. Richelieu’s lost his entire supply line now, and most of his hench-priests.”

“We couldn't prove he had any crime connections, though!”

“Well, yeah,” Joker gave Porthos a ‘you didn't used to be stupid’ look. “If there was evidence then the cops could've handled it.”

“Right. So… you left me for months, just to make Gotham a better place?”

“And to travel, see the great wonders of the world, sleep with exotic women, you know. That and wait for the trial to end, so there's less attention on me.”

Porthos nodded. He wasn't quite sure if Joker was telling the truth, but it would make sense, and the GCPD had noticed a drop in organized crime over the last couple months, though they had just attributed it to Batman’s overall presence in the city. 

“So now what?”

“I liked that kissing thing we were just doing?” Joker fluttered his eyelashes at Porthos, his smile still wide even with half the lipstick gone. Porthos obliged, kissing him again, slowly and deeply. Then he pulled back, looking the Joker directly in the eyes. 

“If you're really here, really staying, then – isn't it about time you told me your name? You already know our secrets; let me in on yours, even just a little?”

Joker looked back at Porthos, a rare expression of solemn contemplation on his face. He looked older when he wasn't smiling. Finally he nodded. 

“Aramis. I'm Aramis.”

Porthos nodded back, smiling wide enough for the both of them. 

“It's nice to meet you, Aramis. Now let's go upstairs. I've missed you, and we need to get reacquainted.”

“Do I look that easy? I still haven't forgiven you for leaving me in that alley with my dick out.”

They both laughed, and Porthos took Joker’s hand, tugging him towards the stairs. 

“I'll make it up to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for now, Bat-friends! But do not despair - wherever injustice rears its ugly head, Batman and Robin will be there to save the day! And if anyone needs lipstick, Joker has plenty.


End file.
